


The Other Man

by goldenbootshersh



Series: The Other Man [1]
Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Cheating, Child Neglect, Completed, Drama, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Older Woman/Younger Man, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 86,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenbootshersh/pseuds/goldenbootshersh
Summary: • Previously known as When He Holds Your Hand•Layla French is nearing 30 and in a marriage that lost its spark years ago. Ignored by her husband, loathed by his mother, and pitied by his friends, will a run in with a much younger man named Harry Styles lead to the distraction she so desperately needs?





	1. Devil's Touch

 

I fiddled with my wedding ring nervously, the claws for each diamond dragging reassuringly across my index finger as I spun it around slowly. With a heavy sigh, I crossed my legs and immediately regretted it, my thighs aching and protesting the sudden movement. The brightly-lit streets of London passed by, glistening from the rain as I sat in the back of the taxi, mind desperately wondering how on earth I'd gotten myself into this position.

How had I just allowed myself to cheat on my husband, and how had I done it with a man ten years younger than me?

** 2013 **

"Hi, I'm Harry."

Looking down at the extended hand in front of me, I wanted to laugh; instead, I reluctantly shook it before quickly snatching my hand back. I surveyed the boy in front of me and smirked.

"Yes, I know who you are."

Harry Styles. Billionaire pop star, serial womaniser and Mick Jagger wannabe. I'd read all about his girlfriends in the paper, most of them much older than him, but his baby faced, dimpled smile didn't impress me one bit. He wore a grey suit with a black shirt, and the mass of dark curls on his head added to his cherub-like charm.

"Ah! Harry! You've met my wife, Layla."

My husband, Will, appeared through the crowd and handed me a much-needed glass of champagne before sliding his free arm around my waist. Harry nodded and smiled but didn't look at me again, obviously put off by my unfriendly manner. Despite a flashing moment of guilt for being so rude, I was pleased. Nineteen year olds weren't exactly my cup of tea at the best of times, but definitely not ones who'd probably try their luck had the husband not shown up.

Will's company was responsible for building the set for One Direction's latest tour and was also the host of this party I'd been bribed into attending. Parties with Will were a nightmare and always went the same way: I was always left on my own or stuck talking to one of his lecherous business partners who'd spend the whole time talking to my bust. Either way, I'd end up drinking way too much wine, waking up with a sore head and Will asking why I couldn't be like all the other well-behaved wives at the party.

Automatically and out of habit, I switched off and tried to think of all the better things I could be doing rather than being there, but Will's voice droning on about lighting and ramps and god knows what else was too much to drown out. Harry was listening with interest and I couldn't decide if he was either really dull, really stupid, or just way too polite.

"Honey," placing my hand on Will's arm, I spoke when he paused to draw breath, "I'm going to go get some fresh air, leave you two to talk."

He gave a quick nod in acknowledgement, barely hearing me and let me slip out of his hold without any protest.

"Nice speaking to you, Layla." Harry's voice was quite loud as I walked away, making sure I heard him. Was that a hint of sarcasm, too? I turned to give a reluctant 'you, too,' but saw he was already back to talking with my husband, smile fixed and head nodding.

After grabbing a large glass of white wine from the bar, I headed for the outside area. Pushing through the smokers as they crowded near the door, I sat as far away as I could from them at a table closest to one of the patio heaters; the night was cold but despite how much I'd wanted to get away from the crowds, I loved hearing the chatting and laughing. Sipping my wine, I pulled out my phone and wrote a long, guilt-inducing text to my best friend, Rose.

Rose had meant to come with me. We'd planned on setting ourselves up at the bar nearest to the hottest barman and taking full advantage of the free drinks, but this morning she cancelled with the flu. Her night now consisted of tissues, a pharmacy, and an array of Tom Hardy movies while mine was being hit on by teenagers and being ignored by my husband. I wished I'd gotten the flu too.

 **Layla**  
_I'm so bored! Why didn't I stay at home? Turns out pop stars are massively boring! Not even a hint of cocaine being passed around on a tray!_

A text came back almost instantly. The first message was a picture of her with tissue stuffed into her nostrils, making her look like a cartoon angry bull, her face sad and shiny from the fever.

 **Rose**  
_Are the 1D boys no fun, then?_

I sent a picture back of my own sad face, holding my wine glass up to my lips and rolling my eyes.

 **Layla**  
_They're literally children! I met the famous Harry Styles who Will is too busy schmoozing so I'm outside on my own with a large glass of wine._

Waiting for her reply, I sipped some more wine, enjoying the crisp, bitter taste, and looked around at the typical club garden: chrome and wood furniture with large heated umbrellas, miniature palm trees and spider plants, and spotlights in the floor. My phone buzzed against the table and I picked it up again.

 **Rose:**  
_Harry seems so much fun though! And he likes the older ladies._

I rolled my eyes, remembered she couldn't see me, and informed her about our brief encounter.

 **Rose**  
_He could have shown you where the cocaine tray was, you scared him off!_

"I wouldn't be so sure of that", a deep voice spoke into my ear.

Switching my phone off and twisting in my chair to check I hadn't imagined it, I came face to face with Harry. He immediately stood back up then took a seat next to me, despite having the whole table to choose from.

"There's no coke tray, I'm afraid. This is, after all, a business party," he smirked, slowly moving his green eyed gaze from my face, down to my chest and along my crossed legs.

"It's considered quite rude to sneak up on people and read over their shoulder." My heart raced with mortification. Why hadn't I noticed him sneaking up behind me?

"Well," his eyes connected challengingly with mine and I couldn't look away without looking weak, "it wasn't me who was rude first."

Exhaling loudly, I shrugged and held up my hands. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"See how easy that was?" his smile became warm as he took a large drink from his glass.

"Are you even old enough to drink?" I laughed, causing him to frown. I couldn't help but think he was kind of adorable when he was offended, his mouth parted slightly, bottom lip protruding in a pout.

"Yes I am, thank you very much! Aren't you out past your bedtime?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

We both laughed and I felt myself relax; maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He wasn't going to charm me into bed, but I was happy to talk with him rather than sit by myself.

"Why are you out here?" Harry asked, suddenly quite serious. "I was surprised that Will didn't seem at all bothered that you left him. I mean, my company is pretty good but it's not that great."

I eyed him with curiosity and mulled over his question.Normally, I would tell anyone prying into my personal life a whopping five minutes after meeting them to get stuffed and mind their own business. But, he seemed genuinely interested and surprised by Will's behaviour.

"Do you often pry into other people's marriages? Is that how you get all these older women into bed?" I teased, hoping to keep the conversation light and jokey. He was too young to hear about my marriage troubles, but his expression was more serious than ever.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers about me," he shook his head, "I'm not the person they paint me to be."

There was a brief awkward pause which was broken by the arrival of two other people I recognised as the blonde, Irish one and 'the one who could sing' from One Direction. They talked loudly as they sat down, the one who could sing lighting a cigarette as he spoke to Harry.

"We've been looking for you! What're you doing out here?" He subtly glanced in my direction, trying to hide his smile as if he knew full well what Harry was up to.

"Lads, this is Layla, Will's wife." The suspicion and boyish grins disappeared from their faces knowing who I was, both of them turning to me and saying hello. "Layla, this is Niall and Liam."

"We thought Harry was trying to work his usual magic on you", Niall guffawed, winking at Harry, his cheeks red from drinking.

"He tried!" I answered meekly, suddenly feeling ancient surrounded by so much youth and laddishness.

They talked amongst themselves for a little while I texted Rose an update on my situation. She must have been half-asleep because her reply was simply three sunglasses-wearing emojis. For my so-called best friend, she was not very helpful on some occasions.

Harry's attention was now elsewhere so I got up to leave to head back inside, but as soon as my behind left my seat, his hand shot out to my thigh, planting me back down with force. He was still listening to Liam talk but his hand remained on my knee, his warm palm burning against my bare skin. My cheeks flushed and my stomach flipped; I knew it was simply because no man other than Will had touched my leg in such a fashion for years, but I couldn't help the tingle racing up my thighs.

When Liam and Niall got up to go back inside, Harry's hand slid away. He waved it at his bandmates as they joked about the two of us being safe alone, then we both watched them walk away in silence.

"I'm sorry," Harry turned to me, face innocent. "I just didn't want to stop talking to you yet."

"Do they really think we're up to something?" I asked, changing the subject, worried that if it got back to Will, he'd take it seriously.

"No, they're just winding us up!"

And there it was again, his hand on my knee to reassure me, a little further up this time. I wordlessly looked down at the large hand, enjoying briefly seeing how his fingers covered my not-so-tiny thigh before he snatched it away, aware that his action was inappropriate.

"I should actually go back inside now," Standing up before he had the chance to stop me again, I put my hand on his shoulder. "but it was actually, surprisingly, nice talking to you."

"You too, Layla." His smile was warm but slightly smug that he'd won me over and it made him look ever so attractive. Walking away, I was annoyed that I'd started to fall for his boyish charm; at 29 years old, I should definitely have known better!

 

In the back of the taxi, riding home with Will, we sat in silence while he typed away at his phone, sending and checking emails. I took the opportunity to look at him properly for the first time in what felt like years. He was the complete opposite of Harry: his blonde hair was straight and styled the same way he wore in university, and he'd started to put on a little weight, his middle aged spread hitting him earlier owing to his office lifestyle of client dinners and afternoon drinks. He was every bit the ex-public schoolboy who didn't have to work hard for anything - something I'd admittedly found fascinating and impressive when we were first dating, but now I wished he knew what it was like to struggle a little. Life came easy to William French, it always had.

I closed my eyes to try turn off my thoughts; I was drunk and emotional, letting the momentary attention of a teenager mess with my head. Gladly, by tomorrow morning my run in with Mr. Harry Styles would just be a short, vague, drunken memory.


	2. Hangover

"Hello?" I croaked into my phone, half-asleep and disoriented.

There had been way too many glasses of wine and champagne consumed at the party. My head pounded and spun as the remaining alcohol wreaked its havoc. Looking at the clock, I saw it was almost ten in the morning and that Will, as usual, had left without saying goodbye.

"Hey," Rose also was croaky but for an entirely different reason, her flu making her suffer for a third day. "When you stop by, can you bring some chicken soup from that delicatessen you get coffee from? It's the only thing I can think about trying to eat."

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I'd completely forgotten that I was meant to go and cheer her up; the one saving grace I had given my current state was that at least she wouldn't be up to doing much.

"Sure, not a problem. I'll be there in an hour or so."

"Thank you, you're the best! Oh, and you can tell me about the rest of your night with Mr. Styles."

My cheeks flushed briefly at the memory of talking to Harry Styles the previous night, worried by how rude I had been and how I'd almost let the open bar get the better of me by falling for his smooth talking.

After a quick shower, I felt a little better; my stomach still churned and the sunshine as I stepped outside made my retinas feel like they were on fire, but the walk to my usual deli wasn't as painful as I thought it was going to be.

"A large coffee, a hot chocolate with everything, and a large chicken soup to go, please," I managed a weak smile to the girl behind the counter who looked like she was more hungover than I was, so there was a brief moment of solidarity.

"Layla?" I froze, silently praying I'd misheard my name, "hey!"

The hand on my elbow I couldn't ignore.

Turning around, I met with the person I least wanted to see at this moment. My blonde hair was a tangled, damp mess on top of my head, I still had remnants of last night's makeup on, and I was wearing a paint-splattered denim shirt and jogging bottoms with a hole in the knee. I was movie-marathon-with-my-ill-friend-while-I-eat-an-entire-pack-of-chocolate-hobnobs dressed, not meet-the-hot-boybander-who-drunkenly-tried-to-chat-me-up-last-night dressed. Harry gave a toothy grin then leaned in to kiss my cheek, and I heard my hungover sister behind the counter yelp but ignored her despite the urge to turn around and launch into a huge explanation that this wasn't what it looked like.

"Hey, you! What a surprise," I wanted to run, but Rose needed her soup and I sure as hell needed my coffee. "Do you live nearby?"

"No, I'm here with some friends," he said, pointing to a table of people who were all young and famous in one way or another: a DJ, a model and an It-girl. I felt even more like I should have passers-by throwing change at me. "I needed coffee and breakfast after last night."

He wore sunglasses so I couldn't see his eyes but the rueful, lopsided smile said everything: he'd had too much to drink and he was mortified by the old bird he'd tried to pull.

"Same here." On cue, my name was called and my order arrived. "I'm taking soup to a friend. That's why I look like crap," I added a little too quickly.

Grabbing my things from the counter and paying for the order I expected Harry to say goodbye and rejoin his friends, but he remained in front of me, all hair, skinny jeans, and tattoos.

"You don't. You look lovely," he said, biting his bottom lip gently which sent an almighty jolt through my body. I suddenly pictured myself biting that bottom lip before I could stop myself and the urge to run grew stronger.

"Well, Harry, it was nice seeing you again. I better get these things to my friend before they get cold. Bye!"

Dodging past him and heading straight for the door, I heard him say goodbye, his voice as cheerful as his low tone allowed.

Despite knowing Harry was not following me, I practically ran from the deli, desperate to get away from whatever had just happened to me in there. Imagining myself biting the lip of someone I'd met just the night before was not the behaviour of a respectable wife. I was not about to go gaga over a nineteen year old pop star. Luckily, I had a key to let myself into Rose's flat, so I didn't have to wait for her to drag herself from her bed.

"I'm surprised you don't have a red 'X' on the door and a sign saying 'Unclean,'" I teased, finding my best friend wrapped up in bed wearing a cow onesie with the hood up, looking like death warmed over. "I got you soup and a hot chocolate."

"You are literally the best person I know, thank you so much," she whined, turning up the patheticness up a notch and throwing in a little cough for good measure.

"I also got you a bunch of magazines - fashion ones, the ones where the mum is married to her daughter's ex boyfriend, and some gossip ones, too. I ticked all the boxes! Uh, what else..."

Throwing the highbrow reading selection on the bed, I spotted Harry on the cover that questioned if he was still secretly dating some American pop singer. I was reminded that it would be stupid to think he was attempting to flirt with me. I also realised it was stupid that I even cared for a second. "There's also a ton of fruit, chocolate, milk, and tissues."

"You're amazing!" Rose's gratitude was somewhat half-hearted as she'd noticed the magazine too. "You should have asked him! I think they're still dating, look," she pointed at a picture of Harry and the pretty, petite blonde having dinner in a restaurant I knew well and often visited with Will for business dinners. "That was last week! They say they're friends, but I dunno."

I rolled my eyes, feigning disgust at the whole thing. "I'm going to let you off for caring about such drivel because you're sick! Who cares?!"

"I'm so sick!" Suddenly remembering how rubbish she felt, Rose rolled herself back up in her quilt and let the magazine fall to one side.

"Right, what first? Dirty Dancing or Pretty in Pink?"

"I feel sick enough without having to see what Molly Ringwald does to that dress so let's go for Dirty Dancing," she grimaced, fluffing her pillows before leaning back, looking every part the pampered princess.

I popped a DVD into the player but the movie was quickly forgotten when Rose started to ask questions about the party. She scraped her wild ginger curls into a bun and ate her soup slowly while I told her everything.

"There was one...strange thing that happened though," I hesitated to tell her what had happened when I had tried to walk away from the table.

"What? Other than following you outside and looking at your messages over your shoulder?" she said, shaking her head before sipping another spoonful of soup and wincing as it burnt her tongue. "The youth of today!"

"Well," I paused, "When the others joined us, I felt a bit like the mum at the kids' table so I got up to leave, but he stopped me."

"Harry?" Her eyebrows raised and I nodded.

"He put his hand on my knee and didn't take it off until Liam and Niall left, then he did it again five minutes later!" I looked at Rose, hoping for confirmation that I was being over dramatic and that I was just attention deprived.

"Show me how he stopped you." I felt stupid but obliged, showing her how he stopped me first, my hand pressing gently enough on her kneecap that it wouldn't hurt but she would get the message. "And the second time?"

Looking down at my own leg, the vision of his large hand having been permanently at the front of my mind since I'd woken up, I moved my hand from her knee to further up her thigh.

"Fuck," Rose breathed. "He was totally trying to sleep with you!"

"Oh, shut up!" I snatched my hand back angrily. She was meant to be telling me I was being crazy, not encouraging my thoughts! "He was drunk!"

"If he was just drunk, he wouldn't have said hello to you today!"

"Rose," I rolled my eyes and threw myself back onto her bed, trying to keep my voice from going too high pitched, "he was being friendly. He knows Will so he's hardly going to ignore me. Apart from the knee thing, he was perfectly lovely!"

"Listen, Mrs. French, you're one hot lady and not everyone is like Will. Some men would kill to get a piece of that gorgeous arse!"

"Maybe," I frowned at her, wanting to end the whole conversation, "but not Harry Styles. Look at her!" Stretching over Rose's legs, I grabbed the magazine I'd wanted to burn earlier and flipped to the picture of Harry smiling over dinner, hand reaching out to his petite, blonde, gorgeous ex. "I am not her! I'm twice the size of her and half her height!"

Rose rolled her eyes this time and sucked her teeth, "Maybe Harry wants a woman this time and you're really no-"

"Right! No! We're not talking about this any longer. It shouldn't even be a discussion! I have a husband, who may ignore me half the time and I can't even remember the last time we had sex, but he loves me and I love him. Harry was just drunk and probably as bored as I was. End of."

I tossed the magazine across the room, out of the bedroom door and heard it hit the hallway wall.

"Well," Rose spoke, breaking the silence that followed my overreaction, "I've never seen the phrase 'the lady doth protest too much' so accurately portrayed."

I scrunched my face and huffed in her direction but she just looked back at me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow until I finally cracked and started to laugh.

"You're such a pain in the arse when you're ill." Moving to lay next to her so we could share chocolate biscuits, she lay her head on my shoulder and flashed me her big, brown eyes.

"Yes, but you love me anyway! So, how was Will? His usual loving self?" she asked, changing the subject back to my husband. I felt mixed emotions that we were no longer talking about Harry, but I rolled my eyes and grimaced.

"Oh yes, the epitome of love and romance," I snapped a biscuit in half and dipped it in my coffee before popping it into my mouth. "You know me though, Rose. I'm used to it by now. He's a busy man with other things on his mind.

**•**

Harry wasn't mentioned again until Will brought up over dinner that the band were really happy with the first sketches of the stage layout.

"Actually, Harry did ask after you, said he'd enjoyed your conversation at the party. You never mentioned you'd spoken."

My stomach had a brief moment of butterflies when I remembered looking down at Harry's long fingers on my thigh, the feel of his warm palm on my skin. It had been more than just a conversation. Clearing my throat, I suppressed the image.

"Don't you remember that we were speaking when you came over and introduced us?"

Will's brow furrowed with confusion, then a bemused smile spread across his face. "Did I introduce you?" he laughed and shook his head. "And I thought it had been you who'd drank too much that night."

He reached over to pat my hand patronisingly, and I gave a tight smile, knowing full well that most likely Will had clean forgotten I had even attended the party with him until Harry had mentioned it. I wriggled my hand free of his touch and went to grab my wine glass but stopped myself, remembering what he had just said about my drinking and instead, grabbed my water glass and took a large gulp.

Will smiled at my decision, a smug satisfaction that made my eye twitch with rage, and went back to his steak. I looked down at my chicken salad and pushed it away, having lost my appetite, and excused myself from the table, the need to get away from my husband suddenly so overwhelming I couldn't breathe.

I locked the downstairs bathroom behind me and splashed my face with water, I needed to get a grip and remember that Will was a busy, hardworking man who, despite his faults, was loyal and loving. I was truly lucky to have him.


	3. Later

 

What had started as a typical Friday night in watching Human Traffic - a movie from the 90's about the clubbing scene - and quoting it word for word whilst drinking wine, ended up being Rose and me in a cab, going to meet friends in some club in London. We'd originally declined but, as was habit when we watched that movie, the urge to go out drinking and dancing became too much, and it wasn't long before we were doing our hair and makeup while going through my wardrobe trying to find something that fit Rose.

Georgie and Fran were more Rose's friends than mine, having all gone to school together, and while Fran was an absolute sweetheart, Georgie and I were never in any danger of winning trophies for being the best of friends. Both girls were gorgeous, single, and liked to party so when we arrived at the club, they were already on top form; even Georgie greeted me warmly and genuinely complimented my dress.

"You'll never guess who's here!" Fran shouted loudly over the music to Rose when we returned from the bar.

"Let me guess," Rose laughed before throwing back her shot of tequila and pulling an instant face of regret. Finally, she managed to make her guess. "Some nobody from Big Brother?"

Building up the courage and taking a deep breath, vowing to myself that this would be my only shot of the night, I threw the horrific liquid into my mouth and nearly spat it straight out as I heard Fran's reply.

"No! Harry Styles is here!"

Somehow managing to swallow the drink, I coughed and spluttered, making the three girls look at me with a moment of concern before laughing once they realised I was fine. This was not what I'd expected from my evening, but then I doubted if he and I did run into each other, he'd be remotely interested in talking to me other than a brief 'hello.' The place was wall-to-wall with girls who all looked like they could be models, tall and gorgeous with perfect hair and breasts that didn't need bras. Just my saying 'hello' to him would probably embarrass the poor guy.

"Lil knows him!" Rose grinned, looking at me. "He was trying to chat her up the other week, before Will interrupted him."

I shook my head and gave her the finger. She'd been winding me up about what she was calling 'Knee-gate' for weeks, and it would have been amusing had I not gotten a strange feeling in my stomach every time she mentioned it. She laughed at my gesture and returned it playfully before puckering her lips and kissing the air at me.

The four of us headed for the dance floor after taking a detour at the bar for another round of shots that I'd vowed not to drink, my weakness coupled with peer pressure becoming the victor. We found a spot to dance near a wall and a small set of steps that led further into club, and while Fran and Georgie were trying to attract the attractive young males who were dancing nearby, Rose and I just sang the lyrics to songs loudly and pointed at each other. It was the one of the things I enjoyed about being married: I didn't need to worry about being on the pull. Rose, who'd been out and proud since she was thirteen, wasn't really interested in meeting girls in a nightclub that didn't also enjoy pointing and singing out of tune to Rihanna. As far as Rose was concerned, if someone she found attractive looked down at her for having a good time with her friends, she wasn't worth pursuing.

When a song came on I disliked, I took the chance to go to the bathroom. It was so hot that I could feel my makeup sliding down my face. Rose and the other girls stayed behind so I wandered off on my own and hoped there wasn't a huge queue to use the toilet.

On my return, I was walking past what I assumed was the VIP section, amused by the people who were trying to blag their way in by pretending they knew this person and that, when someone blocked my path.

"I thought that was you!" Harry said as he appeared almost out of nowhere, his arm sliding with ease around my waist to pull me against him in a hug. "I saw you walk in but I wasn't sure."

It took a second to register that he was in front of me, but contrasting to how nervous I'd been seeing him in the café, I now had two bottles of wine and tequila behind me so I hugged him back, my hand remaining on his shoulder while we spoke. He moved us both to stand out of the walkway, closer to the wall and closer to the bouncer who was keeping an eye out for anyone who tried to get close to Harry.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that, Mr. Styles. I am an old lady - you have to be gentle with me." Standing on tiptoes to talk into his ear over the music, I leaned against him; he smelled like alcohol and aftershave. His neck looked so tempting, surprising me by the sudden urge to kiss it. I watched as he licked his lips, their pink wetness making him look even more attractive in my drunken haze.

"Not too gentle, I hope." His deep, gravelly voice in my ear and his warm, sweet breath on my skin made me groan internally. "D'you want a drink?"

"You can't talk to me like that! I am a married woman, remember?" I laughed and stepped away from him a bit to playfully push him. "No, thank you. I have one with my friends."

When he stepped forward so he was close to me again, I was aware that some people were watching, so I refrained from touching him. I could easily explain running into him to Will, but our greeting had been very familiar and that was not so easily explained.

"Sadly, I do remember," he grinned mischievously and took a large swig from his glass. "Where is your lovely husband this evening?"

Surprisingly, the question wasn't asked in a way that suggested I shouldn't be out having fun, that I should be at home playing the role of 'wifey.' There was something else behind the question. Harry had been curious about Will's ignoring me the night we'd first met and I wondered if he was trying to work out our marriage out of weird curiosity.

"He's at a conference in Newcastle or somewhere up north, I'm not too sure," I laughed, wishing I had accepted his offer of a drink so my hands had something else to do other than itch to stroke his chest through his black Henley. "I don't really pay too much attention."

We both giggled and I looked around to see if Rose or the other two girls were watching, I knew full well that if Rose could see me talking to Harry, I would never hear the end of it. To my relief, she was too busy taking pictures of the three of them, completely oblivious to my conversation.

"You look really amazing, by the way." Feeling him close to my ear, I turned and caught him as he looked at my bust before averting his gaze, smiling cockily.

I wanted to be annoyed, offended even. I wanted to tell him off for leering over me like some pervert, but it was oddly thrilling; the reality was that nobody looked at me like that unless they were on the wrong side of forty, married, and drunk. Harry's attentions were flattering, and despite my initial judgments of him, he was actually pleasant to talk with. I enjoyed our little flirtations, especially knowing it could never lead anywhere.

Realising we'd both just been staring at each other, bodies close, his eyes wandering over my face while I stared at his lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him, I remembered that I had friends who were probably fully aware of who I was talking to by now.

"I'd best get back to my friends, and I don't want to cramp your style."

"Never!" he said sincerely, touching my shoulder and letting his ring-clad fingers brush the curve of my neck. I held my breath and tried not to visibly shiver, surprised by the weird effect he had on me but dismissing it as drunken nonsense.

Suddenly, he moved his hand, pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, and held it out for me to take. I looked at him stupidly, not fully understanding what he wanted me to do. Realising that he was going to have to spell it out, he leaned in close. "Give me your number."

I hesitated, knowing full well that what I was doing was definitely not my smartest move. I ignored the warnings my brain gave me and went along with the nervous excitement in my stomach. Taking the phone from his hand, I typed out my number then called it before hanging up, passing it back with a smile, and ignoring the thoughts that told me I was an idiot.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Harry." Taking advantage of my fearless attitude, I put my arm around his neck to hug him goodbye, enjoying how warm and hard his body felt against mine and the way his hand sat dangerously close to my backside.

"You too, Layla," he mumbled into my ear, "and I hope to see you soon."

Reluctantly, we pulled apart and I continued back to my friends, feeling Harry's gaze on me as I walked away.

My friends had moved, no longer on the dance floor but stood by a table in a tight cluster, whispering furiously, waiting to pounce on me as soon as I got close enough. Georgie was the first to question.

"What did he say to you?!" she demanded. I could see the disbelief on her face that he'd actually spoken to me and that I wasn't showing any hint of it being to ask who my blonde friend was.

I wanted to freak out, to divulge how close Harry and I had been and how flirtatious his behaviour was, but Georgie and Fran were not the kind of friends I'd behave like that with. Looking at them all like they were crazy, I shrugged it off as no big deal, choosing to wait until Rose and I were alone before I spilled all.

"He just asked how Will was, he'd lost his number so I gave it to him," I picked up the fresh drink Rose had gotten for me and sipped it casually. "Honestly, it was a boring work conversation. Pop stars are really boring these days. Anyway, why aren't we dancing anymore?"

My attempt at changing the conversation fell flat, Fran piping up and grabbing my arm. "You have to introduce me! He's so fit!"

Her voice became a low hum, I could make out that she wanted to 'show him a thing or two' and 'ride him into the sunset,' but a creeping, emerald mist of jealousy descended, made worse by the fact that I had no reason to stop her from doing the graphic things she described. The sweet excitement I'd felt walking away from Harry was now soured by realising that although he might have flirted with me, he would almost certainly be leaving with another girl. He'd take her home and do all the things with her that I wanted him to do with me.

Suddenly, being drunk wasn't fun anymore. It was making me think stupid thoughts about having a crush on a man who was essentially still a teenager. I blinked at Fran and Georgie, both of them giggling over who Harry would take home. I wondered for a second about who he would choose until I started to feel sick at the idea.

"Lil?" Rose nudged me gently, amused by her friends' conversation, but realising I wasn't joining in. "You okay?"

Turning to look at my best friend, I gave her a tight smile and held up my glass like I was having the time of my life.

"Who wants a shot?"


	4. I Would Like

 

Walking through the hotel lobby, I thought about turning on my heel and leaving, perhaps to see if Rose was free to go for cocktails. Instead, I continued past the large, ornate front desk to the lift and waited for the doors to open. Upon hearing the ding that signaled the lift's arrival, I stepped inside and watched the doors close behind me. There was no turning back now.

I'd been to this particular hotel a few times, mostly with Will and his mother, Verity. We came every year for her birthday, sitting through an awkward afternoon tea where she would complain about the other lunch guests, how the standard of clientele had dropped since she'd first started going there, and how I was holding my teacup wrong. Occasionally, Will and I would go there for pre-theatre drinks, but we had never spent the night. Not that I was about to stay the night. This was purely a casual drink with a friend. A casual drink in a hotel room. Private, so no one would see us and get the wrong idea. Innocent. Completely innocent, or so I kept telling myself.

•

Rose and I had been preparing to leave the club. Georgie and Fran were each engaged in some serious lip action with two men who'd been eyeing them up, so my best friend and I had spent the night dancing together until suddenly, Rose stopped and looked at me.

"I want a burger!" she said, a wild look in her eyes. She stared at me, waiting for the suggestion to take hold.

"That. Sounds. Amazing," I moaned, closing my eyes and pinching my lips together at the thought of a juicy cheeseburger saving my night. Rose and I both were weak at the mention of food when drunk, and we knew that if one of us had enough of the night, we could suggest food and the other would almost instantly become ravenous.

"Toilet, and then food!" she nodded, feeling wise at suggesting an amazing plan.

"Yes!"

I was waiting for Rose outside the ladies' room, squinting at my phone through blurred vision, attempting to read Will's excuse as to why he wasn't coming home when someone walked up, and stood next to me. I ignored the stranger at first, writing it off as being some creep who'd get bored without attention, so I closed one eye and tried to gain focus, but they leant themselves against my arm.

"Heyyy," the not-so-stranger slurred, "why're you ignoring me?"

Turning my head with horror, I was once again mortified that Harry was reading over my shoulder, but when we came face-to-face, he wasn't looking at my phone. His lids were heavy and he blinked slowly as he stared at my mouth unashamedly. I was thankful the corridor we were in was empty as he grabbed my hand and pulled me around the corner next to a door 'Staff Only.' I held my breath, thinking he was going to lead me through the door, but he stopped when we were out of view of anyone coming and going from the toilets.

Harry lost all concept of personal space and leaned in close to talk to me. I pressed my back against the wall to create room between our noses, but they were almost touching. I'd thought we'd been close earlier, but he had nearly his whole body on me, and I could feel how warm he was, his mouth was so close to mine that when he finally spoke again, I could practically taste the alcohol on his breath as it swept across my stunned face.

"I'm sorry," he smiled slowly, voice a mutter, "I just didn't want anyone to watch us."

In his drunken state, his accent was thick, his voice low and raspy. I found him completely enchanting in the way he spoke and looked at me. The little voice of reason was telling me to push him away, but my hands went to his chest and stayed there with no resistance. I'd been denying it, and meaning it, but even I couldn't write this off as innocent flirtation. I, Layla French, a twenty-nine year old married woman, positively did have a strong desire for Harry Styles, nineteen year old pop star extraordinaire, and it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, that desire was mutual.

"Watch us have an innocent conversation?" I questioned. The calmness in my voice shocking me, like I really had no idea what his possible intentions were.

"Lil?"

Hearing Rose call for me made me jump. I looked at Harry, who also seemed momentarily alarmed, the cool exterior slipping for a brief second, revealing that he was entirely aware that what he was doing was wrong.

Before I could say anything, his finger was on my mouth, the confident smirk back as he realised we hadn't been rumbled quite yet. We stayed frozen like that until we were certain Rose was gone. I could feel my phone vibrating in my bag as it hung on my wrist. My thoughts, however, were focused on the finger still touching my lips.

Dragging it down so the tip rested heavily on my bottom lip, he caught my gaze, groaning when I softly kissed the rough pad. I considered taking it fully into my mouth, to taste the soap and alcohol on his skin, wanting to hear him groan a little louder as I sucked, but I knew that I had already gone way too far.

Harry's eyes were wide now as he pulled his hand away and, in a move that almost made me give my own moan, he placed the finger against his mouth and kissed it, too.

"I'd like to meet you for a drink," he paused, struggling to control his breathing, his heart hammering under my palms, echoing my own erratic heartbeat. He gave a shy smile and laughed. "But do you think we could be trusted?"

His head tilted to one side and every inch of me screamed with panic that he was going to kiss me, but his lips didn't connect as he waited for my reply.

"I could be, but I'm not so sure about you," I teased, the tense moment causing me to release a high-pitched giggle. "Do you think it would be a good idea for us to be somewhere alone?"

The giggle died in my throat when he softly brushed my mouth with his, a sort of kiss that caused my breathing to cease and my legs to turn to jelly. It was over before it started, and when he pulled back, he carried on like nothing happened.

"We'd go somewhere we couldn't be seen," he mumbled, his gaze back on my lips, as if he was wishing he could kiss me again, "and right now, I'm thinking it would be good for us to be alone."

I took my hands off his chest and shrugged, trying not to show how rattled I was by his kiss or his suggestion. I could tell that as blasé as Harry was behaving, the longer we were talking, he, too, was incredulous at what he was doing.

"You're drunk, Harry." I patted his shoulder, assuring him that I'd forgive his drunken bravado and blaming myself because I shouldn't have let it go so far. I'd been there: drunkenly thinking that coming on to someone was a good idea until you regretted it the next day.

"I know," he grinned, dazzling me with the beauty of his smile, with adorable two front teeth and dimples I could drown in. "But-"

"I should get back to my friends." Agreement was on the tip of my tongue. I needed to leave before I actually agreed to meet him.

"Well...think about it," he shrugged his shoulders sullenly, his smile becoming a bit forced, no longer reaching his eyes.

"It was nice seeing you, Harry."

Gaining control of my jelly-like legs, I slid from his overwhelming presence and walked away with my heart in my throat and a distracting fire between my thighs.

In the back of the taxi, with Rose's head on my shoulder as she slept the short journey home, I stared at the unsent text and, with a tight knot in my stomach, hit send.

 **Layla**  
_Fine. Let's meet._

•

Now, as I walked down the long, elegantly decorated corridor, looking for the room number that Harry had texted me along with the hotel name and a time, the nervous excitement was back, but so were the doubts. Once again, I ignored them, raising a shaking fist to knock on the door and waiting for him to answer.

Harry's smile was dazzling as ever when he opened the door, both dimples making an appearance and eyes sparkling as he looked me up and down. He'd obviously stepped out of the shower not long before, his hair leaving wet patches on the shoulders of his loose, white tee. He also wore tight, black skinny jeans with tears on the knees but his feet were bare.

I walked into the room but didn't hug or kiss him, just looked around and started to feel nauseous with anxiety. The hotel suite was large and lavish, with gold brocade light fixtures hung on the the soft, apple green walls. A cream, three-piece sofa suite filled the centre of the room, surrounding a gold coffee table which housed an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two flutes chilling inside.

"Can I take your coat?" Harry asked, bringing my focus back to him. I shook my head. I'd chosen to wear a short, black velvet dress with stockings and heels; in the car, I'd felt I could rule the world, but now I felt like a cheap tart.

"I'm not sure I'm staying."

"Would you like a drink?" Ignoring my statement, he placed his hand on my lower back, making my skin tingle under the fabric of both my dress and my coat before leading me over to the sofas. "I'm glad you came."

He popped open the bottle and filled both glasses to the brim. I accepted the proffered glass and he clinked his against it in a toast, making sure that our gazes finally connected.

"I'll tell you if I'm glad in ten minutes. I'm still not sure if this is a good idea," I smiled weakly, wondering if the trembles I was experiencing were visible.

Harry sat on the sofa next to me but he was silent, and I wondered for the first time if he was nervous, too. He'd been so convincing in the club, but sometimes the idea is better than the execution. Maybe he was also thinking that this was a bad idea but didn't want to be rude. I'd seen him listening to Will waffle on about lighting rigs and stage plans without a hint of boredom. Was he just too polite to say 'Sorry Layla, this is a bad idea?'

I couldn't look at him, though. I couldn't even look around the room. I just stared into the bottom of my glass, wondering what had possessed me to meet him.

"Are you okay?" Harry questioned, eventually breaking the silence, placing his glass on the table, void of the crisp, bubbly liquid I hadn't even noticed he'd downed. "I wish we could go to dinner, or even go to my house, but the paps follow me everywhere. I didn't want you to be seen."

The whole situation now felt doubly seedy: I couldn't explain going to dinner with him or visiting his home. A hotel in a city we both lived in? I couldn't explain that either. If Will found out, there would be no reason that wouldn't sound like a lie. This was so wrong.

The feeling of Harry's hand on my knee was like a lightening bolt that had me jumping from my seat, the empty glass in my hand being slammed down onto the table so hard, I was surprised it didn't break, and heading for the door.

"I need to leave." Hands shaking, I fumbled with the handle until I felt Harry's hand on mine - it was warm and slightly damp.

I realised that despite his cool demeanour, he was actually nervous, too; anybody finding out about this would cause terrible consequences for both of us, whether anything happened or not. I'd heard rumours that women who slept with someone as famous as Harry would normally be asked to sign some sort of document so they couldn't go running to the press with the sordid details. I hadn't been asked to sign anything, and I suspected that was because I had more to lose than he did.

"Where are you going?" he pleaded. His voice was full of concern as he took hold of my hand and turned me to face him. "Please don't go, or at least let me sort out someone to come get you."

"There are taxis outside. I'll get one of those. I'm sorry, Harry, but this was a really bad idea."


	5. Don't Leave

Harry, for the first time I'd seen, looked a little ruffled. He ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand, a look of concern written clearly across his face. I could see the cogs turning while he fought with what to do - to let me go or try to convince me to stay - because even though he probably should let me leave, he was hesitating. Realising I still had a death grip on the door handle, I released it, reluctantly letting him hold my hand

"Please stay, just for a little while longer." Seeing how his green eyes were pleading, I sighed and nodded.

Taking my hand back, I walked over to where we'd been sat, picking up the empty glass and holding it out for him. "You'd best pour me another drink then, Harry."

"We're just two people who get on, having some drinks in private." The concern was gone now, and as he rushed over to do as I asked, taking my glass from me, he spoke very matter-of-factly. "We'll finish the bottle, and if you still want to go, then you can, and I won't bother you again. I just don't want you to leave here upset."

Nodding that I was on board with that plan, he poured me another drink, but I noticed this time, he only filled the flute halfway. Smirking to myself, I mentally applauded his gall and noted that he definitely wasn't stupid.

We spoke a little, keeping the topics light, and avoiding anything that would mean we talked about Will.

"What did you tell your friend when she asked where you were?" Harry asked, leaning his elbow on the back of the sofa and turning his full attention to me.

"I told her I was talking to you," I shrugged, but added quickly when I saw him frown, "but I said we were with your friends. We were saying goodbye; that's all I told her."

Nodding slowly, he circled the rim of his glass absentmindedly with the finger I'd kissed quite brazenly a few days ago. Something so simple, the moment had been on my mind nonstop for days. That along with his feathery kiss, playing on a never-ending loop. I wasn't sure if I wanted anything more than that, but watching him idly drag his finger around as he spoke, I couldn't help but want him to dip it in the champagne for me to lick off.

My cheeks burned and I put my head down, pretending to adjust my coat, hoping that Harry hadn't seen my blush. If he did, he didn't say anything, just continued on talking and trying to put me at ease. I could tell that the alcohol was starting to take effect. He seemed less nervous, allowing his relaxed smile to appear again as he confidently refilled my empty glass.

"If I didn't know any better, Mr. Styles, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk." My eyelashes fluttered and I bit my lower lip. "Or...are you trying to finish that bottle so I leave quicker?"

"I'm getting us both drunk," he laughed, the dimples in his cheeks becoming prominent once more. He gulped from his own glass and polished it off in one go. "And I definitely don't want you to leave."

My eyes became transfixed as he spoke, his lips pink and soft with a beautiful cupid's bow. The urge to kiss him hit me again like a brick. I thought about walking out, about getting the door open this time, but there was a moment where neither of us spoke, just silently acknowledged what might be about to happen. The want to leave dissipated, and I knew that was a bad thing.

The conversation remained mundane until I eventually relaxed enough to open my coat, and after a little more talk about what he had been doing earlier in the day, I removed my coat altogether. Harry hid the glee he felt in possibly winning me over, but I could see that cocky smirk dance across his lips as he feigned indifference and took a sip from his glass.

"You look lovely," he said, moving to lean against the back of the sofa so I had to turn my head to look at him, his knee bent up on the sofa making the tear in his jeans more prominent.

"I'm," he paused but the words came tumbling out, "I'm finding it very hard not to touch you, Layla."

I felt another jolt, this time coursing through my whole body, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Despite feeling tipsy and a little more comfortable, I had no witty comeback, so I replied by taking another large gulp of champers, draining the glass and hoping it would begin to take effect.

I needed to get myself together.

"Shall I get us another?"

We sat in awkward silence, the bottle in one of Harry's hands while he rested his head on the knuckles of his other. His green eyes burned into me as his words hung in the air.

The ball was back in my court.

"Are you going to stay?"

Harry knew I was going to stay, but he wanted me to say it. It wasn't even an invite to stay the night; he just wanted to know if I was plotting to bolt for the door. If I stayed, it implied so much more would happen. And it definitely would happen, because we both wanted it to.

 

It should've been an easy decision.

To get up and walk out.

To slide my coat on and head for the door, calmly and collectedly.

To say goodbye to Harry and wish him the best, say that it was nice to have spent some time with him, and say hello if we were ever in the same room again.

To walk back to the lift, back through the hotel lobby, and out to hail a taxi, refusing the car Harry offered to send for.

To get into the taxi filled with instant regret, but knowing it was definitely for the best.

It should've been an easy decision, and yet I chose to stay.

I leaned forward and took the empty bottle from his hands, making sure to drag my fingers slowly along his.

"Get another bottle."

That was all he needed. Harry pounced. The bottle in my hand hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud as I put my hand on his chest to stop him, still unsure I wanted to take this next step. He cupped my jaw softly, thumb resting on my chin as he waited patiently for me to decide, his eyes burning with a desire I'd only ever read about in books.

"I want you so much," his voice was intoxicating, and the words he spoke broke the last of my remaining resistance.

Harry pulled me to him and pressed his lips hard against mine. I slid my tongue between his lips, and he returned the gesture hungrily, kissing me fully this time. My head swam, both from the alcohol and from the overwhelming need for Harry.

Climbing onto his knee, I straddled his legs, the hem of my dress riding up to expose the lacy tops of my stockings. He ran both hands up my thighs, groaning loudly when his fingertips made contact with the lace and then bare flesh. Leaning back in his seat, he reached up to cradle my face and pull my mouth with his, not wanting to break the kiss.

"I've been thinking about this since I saw you in that cafe," Harry murmured between kisses, the urgency easing as he realised I wasn't about to bolt out the door. "It took everything in me not to kiss you properly in that club. It's all I've been able to think about."

I was now too caught up in my lust for him to think about how wrong this was - with every second that passed and with every new part of my body Harry touched, the further Will was from my thoughts.

"Me too," I whispered as he started to lift my dress up. I took the lead and pulled it up slowly over my head and threw it to one side. "Just...just don't make me regret doing this."

I felt fully exposed when Harry stopped kissing me, holding my shoulders back so he could look my body up and down, his eyes getting darker by the second as arousal spread within him completely. I sucked my stomach in and hoped I didn't have a double chin. Taking me in and liking what he saw, he licked his lips, and any self-consciousness I had disappeared. It was strange to think that a man like Harry Styles, with his previous rumoured connections to several beautiful women, could see me semi-naked and still think I was attractive enough to sleep with. I hadn't had that for so long that I'd forgotten it could happen.

"Maybe we should go to bed," he said, trailing a finger idly along the inside of my thigh and causing a whimper to escape my lips. Harry grinned at my blush, "I'll take that as a yes."

He signalled for me to stand up, doing the same so we were face to face. I was almost as tall as he was with my heels on, but he was still tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. His arms wrapped around my naked waist, pressing his clothed torso against mine, reminding me he was still dressed. I slid my hands slowly up his arms. Harry's hand wandered down to my behind and grabbed it, pressing my lower half against his so I could feel the hardness evident under his jeans.

Putting his forehead against mine, he asked, "Do you think you're going to regret this?"

It was a question that came too late, seeing as I stood in nothing but underwear and heels, but I considered it anyway. There was definitely going to be guilt - I would struggle to look Will in the eye possibly forever - but at this point, I couldn't even think about walking out of this hotel room without getting what Harry and I both wanted. I couldn't walk away from him.

"Probably, but I'll regret it more if I leave." I tried to sound confident, trying to disguise that my knees felt like jelly and that my conscience was screaming at me. If I went with him into that bedroom, my marriage was essentially done. I was doing the worst thing. And yet, "I want to stay."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, looking at me for any signs of doubt before kissing me again. Taking my hand in his, palms warm on mine, he turned his back to me and led me into the bedroom.


	6. Lay Lady Lay

 

The nerves fully hit when we both fell onto the bed. His arms on either side of my head supported his weight as he looked down at me, eyes dark and hooded, a grin on his lips that sent exhilarating thrills through my body.

"You ok?" His voice was soft. He rolled his hips and I moaned, giving him a tense nod.

Quickly, he stood up and took his T-shirt off to reveal his tanned torso. His frame was small and I suddenly felt like a giantess, but I was distracted by the random tattoos which peppered his skin. I'd been put off by them before, but now, seeing the ones that had been hidden, I wanted to run my tongue over the large butterfly located at the centre of his body and graze my teeth along the two swallows on either side of his collarbone.

Harry bit his bottom lip coyly and slowly knelt down on the floor; I propped myself on my elbows and shivered when I realised his intentions. Starting with a small kiss on the inside of my left knee, he crept his way up my thigh, spreading my legs wider as he went. I gasped as his mouth reached the top of my inner thigh, hot breath close to my lacy briefs that I could feel were already soaked through. I hoped he wouldn't notice my reaction, but he laughed and surprised me by running one of his long fingers down my centre from top to bottom, from clit to entrance. My heart was thumping so loud, I was afraid he'd hear it. It had been years since anyone had made me this aroused, what with Will being more of a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' kind of fellow.

"You're so wet," Harry whispered in wonderment before pulling the fabric to one side and touching his tongue to my throbbing clit.

As he suckled it gently, I whimpered and brought a hand to my mouth to bite down on my finger. I was wound so tightly that I was already close to toppling over the edge and he had barely touched me. Stopping suddenly, sensing I was too close, Harry asked me to stand and take off my underwear - everything but the stockings.

The fullness between my legs as I stood up was unbearable. I was afraid that with one wrong move, my first orgasm with Harry would be a solo one. He leaned back on his haunches and watched me with a dangerous look of hunger in his eye. I'd forgotten it was even possible that I could turn a man on like this, and that I could be turned on to this extent.

Reaching behind me to undo my bra, sliding each strap down and eventually letting it fall to the floor, I battled my nerves and kept my gaze connected with his. Harry chewed his cheek to restrain himself, and again, my confidence rocketed. Turning around and hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, I looked over my shoulder coquettishly at him as I pushed my underwear down over the cheeks of my bottom before letting them fall to the floor. The look in his eyes and the way he stroked himself over his jeans confirmed that he was enjoying my performance just as much as I was. Stepping out of my underwear, I slowly bent down to pick them up and let them hang on my finger for him to see.

Once again, I was less dressed than Harry, but it added to the excitement, like we were deliberate in the removal of our clothes instead of jumping into bed and facing the inevitable guilt that would hit post-coitus. Other than kissing and a little petting, we were still fairly innocent, building up to the moment where we could no longer could say 'nothing happened.'

I was about to turn back to face him when I felt the jolt of his body pressing hard against mine, his breath heavy in my ear as he circled his arm around my waist to keep me close.

"Layla, I really need to fuck you." His voice was gravelly and low, words urgent and strained.

I wanted to scream that I needed him to do that, too, but all I could do was shakily nod my head and whisper, "Please."

The sound of him undoing his belt buckle and sliding down his jeans made me feel giddy. I'd thought he would have trouble taking them off as they were so tight, but they were off in seconds. Practice makes perfect, I guess.

Turning me to face the bed, he walked us both forward and bent me over, my wobbly arms holding me above the crisp, cool sheets, my heeled feet still on the floor. I stifled a cry into the mattress when he entered me without much of a warning. I was so wet and ready for him, but he was bigger than I was used to, his size filling me up completely and hitting my very core with every move. Harry's hands gripped my hips and stayed like that for a moment as I clenched my muscles around his cock.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good." Voice shuddering, he groaned loudly and adjusted his grip.

I muttered an expletive as he slowly drew himself out to the tip and then, with a little more force, pushed himself back in.

"You're going to tease me all night, Styles?" I taunted, my voice breathy and desperate.

What I wanted most was for him to fuck me as hard as he could, to feel that bittersweet agony of him driving into me with no control. He was big and I felt stretched, but it felt so good that I didn't want him to be gentle with me. If being there was wrong, I might as well get what I wanted.

Before I knew what was happening, I was being rolled onto my back and we were face-to-face. His glistening erection stood proudly between us and I was impressed by what I saw. He was as big as he felt, and looking at it in full glory, I had no idea how he had fit. He looked absolutely incredible, body tanned and hard, curls wild and untamed, a smile on his face that meant nothing but trouble. We moved together so we were in the center of the king size bed, my shoes falling to the floor with two soft thuds as I slid them off.

He was still gentle as he hooked my legs over his arms and slid himself back into me. His pace was slow and steady, both of us enjoying the feeling of him returning to my warmth. I felt so close to him. Even if this was for one night and I never saw him again, I felt closer to him than I'd ever felt with my husband, and I'd always remember that.

His breathing increased and so did our pace. Moans, grunts, dirty words, and the sound of skin hitting skin now filled the otherwise silent room. Watching the concentration and furrowed brow on Harry's face as his hips moved back and forth turned me on more than I could ever imagine; he looked perfect and completely lost in the moment.

Almost out of nowhere, I suddenly gripped the fabric of the bedding behind me as I felt myself come apart under him, back arching as I begged him not to slow down or stop. My whole body tingled. Years of frustration exited me in waves, the orgasm wrecking me over and over until it finally sent Harry over the edge, too.

His weight fell on me as his body went limp, hot puffs of air hitting the skin on my neck where his mouth lay. Feeling my hand brush his hair, he hummed quietly and kissed my collarbone lazily.

"That was so good," he breathed, looking up at me, cheeks flushed and eyes lazy. "Are you alright?"

"I think so."

Harry slid off me, rolling to lie on his back while his breathing returned to normal. We stayed silent for a few minutes, the reality of what we'd just done hitting us as I'd predicted. I waited for regret or shame to appear, for the urgency to leave this room so I could pretend I hadn't done what I'd done. Turning to look at his profile, I felt nothing but a fresh stirring of need for him. 

Round three had definitely been unexpected, both of us thinking we had nothing else left to give. I had been attempting to leave, but a quick kiss on the cheek rapidly developed into being pulled back into the bedroom and all my clothes, once more, ending up on the floor.

"I should go," I whispered absentmindedly.

We lay in a breathy daze, Harry limp but still buried inside me. He placed soft, feathery kisses along my neck and shoulder while I ran my finger up and down his back, clammy with perspiration. It was an oddly intimate moment for two people who'd probably never sleep together again.

"Can't you stay a little longer?" Tilting his head up and turning his green eyes on me, Harry looked sleepy and satisfied, his hair dishevelled and sticking up at all angles. He'd gone back to looking boyish and too young for me, cheeks red again and lips puffy from my biting them harder than I'd meant to. His mouth spread into a mischievous grin. "We could go for four. I really don't like odd numbers."

"I would if I could," I laughed, moving to untangle myself from him before I threw caution to the wind and decided to stay. "I need to go or we're both going to fall asleep."

As if on cue, Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily. He walked, naked, over to his leather holdall and threw on a pair of jogging bottoms whilst I dressed for the second time. My body felt battered, but I couldn't help the smile that lingered on my lips as I stepped into my heels.

"Is he going to be home?" Harry asked, voice quiet at mentioning Will, as if he was giving me the opportunity to pretend I didn't hear the question. I debated ignoring it, but my husband was real and the innocent party, so, as much as I wanted to pretend he didn't exist while I was with Harry, he did. We had to acknowledge that.

"I'm not sure, he might be working late," I shrugged, focusing on straightening the tops of my stockings under my dress. "He might have messaged me."

Harry nodded, looking like he had a million other questions, but instead, he bit them back and walked me to the door once again.

•

The house was dark and empty when I got home. Will had left a voicemail saying he'd be home later, and I was relieved. Stripping as soon as the front door was closed, I headed upstairs to take a long, hot bath, leaving my clothes piled in the washing machine to be dealt with later.

Climbing into the clawfoot tub, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I had 'dirty sex' written all over me: my hair was all over the place and my makeup was smudged and smeared despite my attempts at tidying it before I left the hotel room. Harry's touch was everywhere on me, and I couldn't deny how much I loved it.

The hot water on my skin eased my tired and aching muscles. Between my legs, I felt sore and sensitive to every movement. In terms of having sex, I'd gone zero to sixty in one night, and my body was worn and exhausted. But, despite the guilt which had kicked in on the taxi ride home, I couldn't deny how great I felt, like after having a good workout at the gym.

As I considered getting out of the tub, I noticed something on my left breast. My breath hitched when I realised it was a bite mark - a small, red, 'O' shaped indent on my pale skin. It was faint, but I knew what it was and who had left it. I was exhausted, but there was a tingle between my thighs knowing Harry had left me a reminder of our evening, that he'd marked me. I slid down into the tub so only above my nose sat above the water and let my mind wander to what might have happened had I stayed the later into the night.

•

Will didn't notice a thing. He asked how my evening was, then fell asleep without listening to my answer. I, on the other hand, struggled to switch my overactive brain off. I'd been in a rosy, post-orgasmic glow when I'd gotten home, but Will's presence beside me brought me back to reality with a bump. I didn't regret what I'd done because I'd wanted it to happen, but that didn't stop the growing guilt. Wondering if I'd see him again, whether I'd even hear from him. I doubted it, and that was fine. We'd had a fun evening, and that was more than I'd had in a long time.

It had been unspoken when we said goodbye; I didn't ask, and he didn't either, which I thought was telling. It was hard what to make of our goodbye, his whole body pressing me against the door while he kissed me and buried his fingers in my hair, describing what he wanted to do to me if I stayed for round four. It wasn't how I normally said goodbye, that's for sure. I'd had to wriggle free of his grip, fearful that I would drop my panties again, then and there, demanding he fuck me against the door.

Eventually, after hours of picturing what he'd described as his fingers had stroked and pressed over the seam of my panties during our heated farewell, I drifted off into a slumber, my dreams filled with curls, tattoos, and hotel cotton sheets.


	7. You're So Vain

 

Days and weeks passed without a word from him. I had expected some form of contact, but there was none at all. No phone calls. Not a single text. I couldn't deny the sting I felt, but I kept my pride and didn't contact him either.

Very quickly, the regret started to outweigh any positive feelings I had about sleeping with Harry. I no longer felt like I'd been a woman in charge, empowered for going after something she wanted. I felt like an aged slut who'd become doe-eyed over a nineteen year old pop star. I regretted letting him dazzle me with his charm and his flirtatious ways. He was obviously exactly who I thought he was when I first met him. He wasn't anything special at all.

"Rose, I need to tell you something," I paused as Rose raised an eyebrow but continued to eat her ice cream as we strolled through Hyde Park, enjoying the first real hint of summer. "Please, just...don't judge me or hate me."

This stopped her dead in her tracks, ice cream forgotten. "What?"

She was worried, had been worried for weeks, but hadn't said anything. I'd been quiet, withdrawn from everything more than usual, even when it was just the two of us, but she knew that it would either pass or I'd eventually tell her; the more she pressed, the less likely it was that I would say anything.

"Oh god, it's so bad!" Covering my face with my hands, fingers still sticky from my own ice cream that I hadn't even eaten but had let melt into my hands until I threw it in the bin, the words finally left my mouth in a whisper so no passers-by would hear. "I slept with Harry Styles."

Rose blinked at me, face blank, and I wondered if she was broken, if what I said had been so out of left field that she couldn't compute it. She'd been teasing me for months about him flirting with me, but this wasn't just a quick touch of the knee or a lingering look. I'd cheated on my husband, and she seemed to be taking her sweet time processing that information.

Without a word, she grabbed my hand and dragged me along the path, heading for the nearest park exit.

"Where are we going?"

"I need a bloody drink!"

Rose's eventual reaction was a lot calmer than I thought it would be; she was incredulous and shocked, but her words were quite positive, like she was almost glad I'd done something so reckless for a change.

Sat in a rammed pub garden, I told her about the real conversation Harry and I had when we ran into each other on our night out, how we'd hidden from her when she came out of the toilets, and some of what had happened in the hotel room. Rose, once again, was silent after I'd finished talking, exhaling loudly before finally speaking.

"Well," she threw back her wine and necked the whole thing in one go, "I didn't think he had it in him. In fact, I didn't think you had it in you, for that matter."

"Neither did I to be honest," I giggled sheepishly.

"So... Was it good?" Rose grinned, finally asking the question she'd probably been wanting to ask since I'd told her. "Did he rock your world?"

I hesitated. I'd tried to forget the details because of the shame I felt for putting myself in such a vulnerable position, but annoyingly, Harry Styles had indeed rocked my world. "Rose, it was amazing!"

My best friend let out a squeal and clapped her hands together. She was so excited that even I laughed before divulging the more sinful details of Harry and his youthful stamina. It would go no further, of that I was certain, so for a moment, I allowed myself to forget how horrible I was feeling and let myself bask in how good the experience had been. I guessed it would not be happening again, so I truly saw no harm in giggling and gossiping to someone I trusted completely.

•

Eventually, I decided that what I needed to do in order to distract myself was throw a little party. Nothing too crazy - just a few friends, a BBQ, and some cocktails. I enjoyed throwing parties, especially at home, and Will was easier to convince than I thought he would be. We'd just had our large garden re-landscaped, and I think he wanted to show it off.

The house had been owned by his hideously wealthy parents, but they'd given it to Will as a wedding present - not to us, to Will. We'd modernised it from a stuffy townhouse to something very open with lots of wood, white walls, and large windows. It was Will's house, but it was my baby.

We were lucky the day was so hot that by the time people started to arrive, the sun was low, but the evening was still balmy with an occasional welcomed breeze. Will and I were getting on famously, even exchanging a quick kiss in the kitchen while he was getting extra ice for the drink tub outside.

"As always, Lil, my love, you've pulled together a wonderful evening. The margaritas are definitely going down well," he winked with a grin.

"Thank you! Did you see Terry's face? It lit up like a Christmas tree!" I laughed, loading my arms with trays of meat to take out to the grill chef we always hired for BBQ's.

"You know he's a fiend for tequila." Rolling his eyes, Will kissed my cheek again and headed out.

By nine, the get-together was in full swing, groups of people dotted about the garden drinking champagne and frozen margaritas while some danced to the cheesy 90's pop playlist I'd put together. Will was enjoying himself, mingling with his business partners and their husbands and wives, laughing loudly as he joked around. It wasn't often I saw him relaxed, so that alone made the evening worthwhile.

I wondered if the source of our problems was that I needed to show an interest in his work more often or plan things like this with him; maybe the issue was I didn't show enough interest in him. Playing the wifely role seemed to make him happy; maybe I needed to make more of an effort to do that and enjoy it.

Heading inside to fetch more tequila, I heard more people arriving. Everyone we'd been expecting had arrived, so I was at a loss who these new people were. There was a discussion if they could walk right in or should wait, a sign that these were invited guests, so I was relieved that I would not be calling the police on any gatecrashers.

From my viewpoint in the kitchen, I could see across the open living room to the front door. It took me a few seconds to realise who had just walked into my home. Curls, tattoos, and skinny jeans with the rip at the knee. I stared aghast as he walked up the couple of steps into the living area, chatting away to the people he'd arrived with. I recognised Liam as well as their tour manager, Paul, but they weren't of concern to me at that moment.

What I wanted to know was what the fuck had possessed Harry to think he could come here?

I hid for a moment to collect myself. What the fuck was I going to do? I'd heard not a peep from him for weeks, then he turns up at my party like it wouldn't be a problem. I had definitely gotten him right the first time: a man whore looking to tick notches. I was angry all of a sudden. I wanted to smash the bottles of Jose Cuervo in my hands over his bloody head! How dare he come into my home! The anger propelled me out of the kitchen, a feigned smile on my face and a thirst for Harry Styles' blood.

Will beat me to greeting our new guests. I left the kitchen to see him leading them all outside, even hearing him say he was unsure where I'd gotten to, but I'd be over the moon they were here. Realising that I would have to pretend I was happy to see him, my need to confront Harry dissipated and I wanted to avoid him at all cost until I could get him away from my husband.

"Ah! Layla, you remember Harry don't you?" Will grabbed my arm gently as I tried to sneak past and go vent to Rose, pulling me into their conversation. "Ha! Of course you do!"

I couldn't speak. Inside, my blood was boiling. I was picturing using that woollen hat on his head to suffocate him. Harry's eyes twinkled as he leaned in and kissed my cheek, his lips lingering a bit longer than appropriate. He smelled of our afternoon together, and I squashed the instinct to recoil from his touch by leaning closer to Will.

"Hello Layla, you have a lovely home." Harry's tone was formal as he watched me hold Will's hand, and I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

"My husband never said he'd invited you." I was cold and hard, every fibre of my body wanting him out of my home and hoping he knew it.

"I'm sorry, dear. I forgot to mention," Will said as he put an arm around me and kissed the side of my head, squeezing my shoulder hard to remind me I was talking to one of his clients.

Seeing only affection and not discomfort, the smile dropped from Harry's face; I could see his jaw clench, and I felt a small victory mixed with guilt, despite Will's fingers bruising my skin.

"Of course, darling. There's no problem," I smiled at Will, pulling away from his grip, my shoulder throbbing. Hoping to make my husband happy again, I turned to Harry and plastered a smile to my lips. "There's plenty to eat and drink. You and your friends make yourself at home!"

"Thank you, Layla."

"I'd best get these to Rose," I said as I held up the bottles I'd wanted to use on Harry aloft, and slowly backed away. Seeing Will turn to talk to a passing guest, I glared at the boy who was staring at me and said through gritted teeth, "Nice to see you again, Harry."

Turning to weave through my guests, I wanted to get as far away as I could from my husband and Harry bloody Styles.

"What's the matter?" Rose asked, taking the bottles of tequila from me and handing over a fresh margarita. "Get that down you! It'll sort whatever's pissed you off."

"Harry," I fumed, annoyed that the ice was stopping me from throwing the whole thing down my throat. Although, brain freeze would have been preferable to the boiling rage in my stomach. "Harry fucking Styles."

"He's here?" My friend's face took a journey of emotions before settling on annoyance, forehead scrunching into a frown as she craned her neck to look for him before hissing quietly to me. "You're not thinking of getting involved again, are you? The guy's obviously an egotistical prick who can't keep it in his pants!"

"Ok! That's enough tequila for you," I laughed and pulled her away from table, despite her protests. "Of course I'm not! It was a once off, and his behaviour made sure of that."

We both watched him as he spoke to the people he'd arrived with, looking as if he was welcome here with a drink in his hand. Harry had the nerve to walk into my house, to act like he was completely innocent as he enjoyed the evening. He was brazen and fearless. I'd thought we were both equal, that it was understood we both had a lot to lose if our dalliance became public knowledge, but it was becoming clear that Harry truly didn't care. It would just be another tale to add to his 'bad boy' image.

"Just steer clear of him, Lil," Rose muttered, turning to look at me. "He'll cause you nothing but trouble."

I hummed in agreement and exhaled to ease the tension in my stomach, hopeful that our latest guests would soon be leaving.


	8. Love is Overrated

 

 

Avoiding Harry quickly became a game. If I saw him heading my way, I'd quickly swerve in the opposite direction. I had no interest in what he could possibly have to say, especially when my husband could appear at any moment. The sooner I saw Harry and company leave, the better.

With the party in full swing, I carried some empty bottles to the recycling tub located down the dark, narrow pathway next to the house, quietly congratulating myself for saving on doing a job the day after. I tread carefully to avoid tripping on the wonky paving stone that always got me even in full daylight and not with just a street lamp to help me see; it reminded me that I really needed to get that security light fixed.

Managing to make it to the bin safely, I turned to go back to the party. The offending paving stone was already tilted and my left foot caught it, tripping me up. Instead of falling onto my face, I crashed hard into another person, two arms catching me. The small yelp I gave was muffled by a kiss being pressed gently against my lips. I tried to pull back and went to scream again, louder this time, but the figure leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"I've been thinking of you nonstop for weeks."

Harry's voice was instantly recognisable, and my fear was replaced with anger. I pushed him away and hissed, "Liar!"

While ducking and diving his attention, Rose had managed to calm me down, she reminded me repeatedly that if he tried to engage me, I shouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd pissed me off. All that flew out the window now that Harry was so close. I was furious with him and I wanted him to know.

"I promise, Layla, I have." He reached for my hand but I shook him off.

It was difficult to tell if he was being genuine or not. I couldn't see his face, and he sounded like he meant it, but I was learning quickly that he was a pretty good liar.

"Where's Will?" I asked, imagining how the scene looked and the fallout it would cause if the wooden gate suddenly flew open and I was found in Harry's arms. Even though nothing was happening, it didn't look good.

"I left him talking with Liam," he replied dismissively, like my husband was no big deal. "Why are you angry with me? I know we didn't discuss it but I thought we both knew it was a one-off."

"Liam? Does he know? Oh, and a one-off? Oh really? So why are you here, then? Why come to my home?" A shake in my voice betrayed that his presence was affecting me more than I'd let myself believe. Harry was so close to me, once again proving he had no sense of personal space, and the smell of his cologne brought back images of heated kisses, soft hotel sheets, and mind-boggling orgasms.

"I wanted to see you again."

There was silence while I tried to figure out what that meant. Did he want another night with me in some hotel? Did he want to see me freak out amongst my guests? Or did he just want to see if he could snap his fingers and make me come running?

"Just to see you again, that's all," he repeated, as if understanding my lack of reply. "I was going to try and persuade you to meet with me again, but I can see that you and Will are better now." There was a sting in his words, a bitterness I'd never heard from him before.

"Do you prey on weak marriages? Is that your...thing?" I asked with disgust. I was starting to feel like a gullible fool, falling for all his smooth talk so quickly once again.

"No. Just yours."

His honesty was like a smack in the face, which was precisely what I wanted to do to him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I huffed and tried to push past him but an arm shot out, blocking my path. "We're done here."

"Not yet, and you know exactly what I mean."

From his ballsy behaviour, I expected to smell alcohol on the breath that was so close to my face. I'd seen him drinking with my own two eyes, but Harry was stone cold sober.

I tried once more to move past him, even grabbing the wrist that was pressed hard against the wall stopping me from going any further. I gave in with a sigh and turned my head to face Harry once more. I could just make out his features in the orange glow of the street light, eyes twinkling and lips slightly parted.

"Did you want me again? Is that why you're angry?" he spoke quietly, head tilted towards me. "Have you been thinking of me like I've been thinking of you?"

My body was buzzing, feeling like I could sense every movement around me and before I could stop myself, I was on my toes, kissing him. It was just a soft kiss that indicated I wanted more if he was willing to give it. This was apparently enough for Harry.

Pulling me to him, he pressed his lips harder against mine, tongue sliding deliciously slow into my willing mouth, running along my bottom lip in such a manner that my knees nearly gave way. Kissing Harry again was a huge mistake but one I was happy to make, and as I melted into him, I realised that the reason I'd been angry with Harry was because he hadn't begged for more.

"What if we get caught?" I breathed, heart hammering in my chest when his hand grabbed my behind and squeezed it.

"We'll just have to be very, very quiet."

Taking hold of his soft hips, I pulled us against the wall, the cold brick rough and grating against my back. I stood once more on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me, longing to feel his heat against my body again. A gasp travelled from my mouth to his as he put a hand between my thighs, fingers working their way under the fabric of my playsuit; he gave a quiet groan when he discovered my lack of underwear.

"Oh fuck," he murmured, "like I didn't want you enough already."

His searing kiss silenced my involuntary whimper as he slid his middle finger into me. He chuckled quietly, a low rumble against my lips, then slowly ran his wet finger back up my slit until he reached my hub, swollen and desperate for his attention. Harry stopped kissing me to press his forehead against mine; in the dim light, I could just make out his face. He was biting his bottom lip, eyes wide as he watched my reaction to him circling and stroking my clit.

"That's the face I've been thinking about." The words were a groan as I palmed his cock over his jeans, surprised once again by his size. Hips rocking, he pressed himself against my hand and groaned quietly in my ear, "This is what you do to me, Mrs. French."

I was already so close to unravelling. My head dragged against the brick behind me with no regard for how my hair would look or for the scratches that would appear on my back, but feeling how turned on he was was so arousing it made me feel lightheaded. Harry kissed me again to stop the moans I couldn't stifle. As every second passed, I wanted to stop him, to tell him that we couldn't do this when we could be found at any second, but I was at the mercy of his touch and well beyond the point of no return.

My knees nearly gave way as I came, my entire weight almost falling onto the hand that had been my undoing. I buried my face his neck and rode his fingers, my hand leaving his cock so I could cling to his shoulders as my breathy moans steamed his skin.

When he pulled his hand away, we stayed where we were for a few moments, Harry holding me while he pressed himself against my thigh so I could feel how hard he still was. Mouth tracing kisses along my jaw, he reached my ear.

"I'll be thinking of you when I'm home alone later." Continuing his trail down my neck, I nearly dropped to my knees so he wouldn't have to use his imagination, but he pulled his hands from between my legs and stepped back so I could regain my composure.

"Does this mean I get to see you again?" he asked once I looked less dishevelled, or at least enough that I could make it into the house to get changed without raising suspicion.

Leaning against the wall, I admired him as much as I could in the poor light. He was grinning, that much I could tell; he was proud of his performance and he wanted his golden sticker for good work. He was the most intriguing person I'd ever met – not that I'd ever admit that to him. I preferred to have him think I considered him to be a temporary cure for the boredom of my marriage. That's what he wanted to be, so who was I to inflate his ego further?

"So...?" Stepping forward so he was close again, he pressed for a reply, sounding a little impatient.

"Maybe. We'll see," I shrugged before leaning forward and kissing his cheek, brushing past him and heading back to the party.

Harry was all I could smell as I walked into the house, praying no one stopped me. He'd left his scent on me, and it made my post-orgasm regret even worse. My knees were weak and I felt pawed at. One look from Will and the game would be up.

"I was wondering where you were," Rose appeared from the living room, chicken kebab in hand, completely oblivious to the fact I'd nearly hit the ceiling she'd made me jump so badly. "Your playlist finished so I put on another. I hope th - are you okay? You look really flustered."

Signalling for her to follow me, I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and waited for her to follow me in before locking the door behind us. She looked at me, confused, as I sat on the bed and put my head in my hand.

"I just had a bit of a run in with Harry," I whispered once she pushed again for an explanation. I wasn't going to say anything but the words came out before I could stop them.

"What sort of run in?" Rose eyed me warily, one eyebrow raised.

I knew that although she wouldn't judge me, I wasn't going to tell her the truth. What had just happened could be brushed off as a drunken fumble. Too much tequila making me fall for Harry's charm (which I was starting to think was actually hypnotism). It didn't need to go any further. Layla the Lush obviously had no control when it came to Harry Styles, and I didn't need to hear that that was a bad thing - what I wanted was to be encouraged.

"Uh... he wants to see me again." I looked down at my hands and mentally prayed she told me to do it.

"You're not going to, are you? I'm happy that you got it out of your system, but sleeping with him again would not be a smart move." Feeling deflated that she hadn't given me what I wanted to hear, I got up and headed into my walk-in wardrobe to change. Rose appeared at the door and added gently, "I can tell you want to, but please don't. You have so much to lose, and no good will come from this."

I nodded and sighed. She was right - of course she was - but the heat between my legs, still throbbing and sensitive from Harry's touch, begged to differ and longed for more of what he had to give.


	9. The Walk

A notification appeared on my phone screen from "Stella," making me immediately press the phone to my chest in alarm. I'd given Harry that code name after our first rendezvous on the off chance that he might initiate contact again. He didn't - at least, not until tonight. I held the phone tightly to my chest while I made sure that no one was near enough to read the message over my shoulder.

The first text had arrived as soon as he'd left, only an hour or so after our little meeting in the alley. Will had tried to call me over to say goodbye, but I'd just waved and called over a 'thanks for coming' before turning back to the conversation I'd been having with Terry.

The messages had started innocently enough, a thank you for the party and gentle persuasions that I should meet him again. Quickly, however, it became apparent that he'd made use of the margarita table - he was drunk and very descriptive of what he had planned for me if we were to be alone again. I would internally moan as I spoke to my guests, feeling the vibration in my pocket that announced the arrival of a new filth-filled message. Excusing myself, I replied and encouraged him. The only things keeping me from jumping in a taxi and going to Harry's was the lack of excuse to suddenly leave my own party and Rose's words of discouragement.

When the last guest left and Rose disappeared up to the spare room she always slept in when she stayed over, I realised Will was furious. Worried he knew what I had done with Harry, I silently watched as he slammed around the garden, putting the furniture back in order, his full temper bubbling to the surface. He wouldn't talk until we'd tidied the garden completely, a job that could have been done the following morning, but he was making some sort of point.

As I loaded the last dishes into the dishwasher to be washed when I got up, I felt Will behind me, waiting for me to stand up straight. I reluctantly closed the dishwasher door, my body freezing when he hissed harshly, voice thick with rage as he spoke close to my ear. "If you speak to my clients like you spoke to Harry Styles ever again, I will not be responsible for my actions. Do you hear me?"

I nodded quickly, regretting that I'd let Harry affect my behaviour around Will. He'd never liked me being the center of attention, or overly friendly, but with clients I had to be at least polite, and I'd forgotten that in my annoyance. My husband, I reminded myself as I stood rigid and still until I heard him leave the kitchen heading upstairs, expected so little and I'd managed to fuck up the one thing he did ask of me.

Hearing Will's footsteps in the bedroom above me, I relaxed with a heavy sigh and a racing heart. Sitting at the marble breakfast bar, I looked at my phone and reread the messages Harry and I had exchanged over the evening. He'd said goodnight over an hour ago but I imagined asking if he was still awake and if he'd like some company. In my fantasy, he'd say yes straight away, so I'd sneak out and flag a passing cab, giving them Harry's address. I'd arrive at some blurry location, a vague picture in my imagination of the sort of place he would live in - it didn't matter, because we'd be there alone. The door would barely be closed before clothes were flying off, both of us aching with need to touch each other and continue what we'd started in the alley, with no awkwardness at all, just pure lust. We'd have sex in his living room, frantic and hot on the floor, before moving to his bedroom for round two.

The flush of a toilet broke my fantasy, sending it hurtling down the U bend, as I remembered that Will would definitely notice if I didn't come to bed until the early hours of the morning, smelling of sex and Harry Styles. It was a nice idea, something to make the lonely moments bearable, but it had to stop. If he messaged again, I'd ignore it.

After getting myself a glass of water and some tablets for the headache I could already feel start to creep up my neck, I went to bed. Will was asleep already (or if he was awake he didn't acknowledge me) so I changed in the en suite. Bare feet on the cold, white tiles, I looked at Harry's messages one last time, and then deleted them.

•

I woke to a simple message. A lonely message with no evidence of any previous contact.

 **Stella**  
_Free later today? Same hotel at 4? x_

My heart soared and I clutched my stomach to quell the thousands of butterflies that woke with a start. This was the now or never moment. I would either think with my head and listen to Rose by staying home or going to lunch with some friends as I'd originally planned.

Or I'd think with something else, agree to meet him, and put my marriage at risk again for the sake of sex. Good sex. Really good sex.

The butterflies flew south as I pictured fucking him, remembering the moans he made and how good his hands had felt between my thighs the night before. I'd been adamant last night that I was not seeing him again, but the memory of the way I'd felt with Harry compared to the reality of the way I felt with Will made it difficult to resist an offer so delicious.

Groaning, I shook my head rapidly and leapt out of bed, closing his message and leaving it unanswered so I could cool off in the shower.

As I let the water douse my body and soothe my hangover, all I could think about was Harry. Wondering if he'd have the strength to hold me for shower sex, or if I'd just have to get my face wet against the tiles while he took me from behind. I was lost in remembering how delicious it was having Harry gripping my hips when I heard my music fall silent and the phone ring.

I contemplated ignoring it. It was probably Will telling me he wouldn't be home for dinner because of work, or Rose telling me she was awake and ready for breakfast in bed. I switched the shower off and reached my hand out of the cubicle.

**Stella**

"Hello?" My voice echoed slightly, and I hoped that Harry didn't realise where I was.

"Hello," he cooed, his low, Northern accent delicious in my ear. I leaned against the cool wet tiles, unsure how to answer. I'd been thinking so hard about what we'd get up to if we met that I hadn't decided if I was going to go or not.

"Uh...who's this?"

"You know who it is."

My stomach fizzed with excitement.

"My husband's home," I lied.

"Funny," he said, lowering his voice and making me instantly regret the lie, "because I'm looking directly at your husband as we speak."

"Oh." It was the best I could come up with. Starting to shiver, I opened the cubicle, grabbed a towel, and stepped out onto the fluffy shower mat while I covered myself awkwardly.

"Where are you? Your voice sounds kind of echoey."

"I'm at home. Perhaps you should have asked my husband where I was," I replied tartly.

He went silent and the quiet hung in the air. "Are you in the shower?"

I heard the sound of a door closing at the other end of the line and I stupidly wondered if he was talking to me.

"Layla?"

I smiled at hearing him say my name. It sounded differently than the way Will always said it. 'Layluh.'

"Was there a reason for your call?" Changing the subject, I pushed away the memories of him moaning my name whilst in the throes of pleasure.

"Can you come this afternoon? I really want to see you again."

"Are you really with Will?"

It felt strange to know that on the other end of the call, Harry was only meters away from my husband. The pangs of guilt were too much - I was such a bad person.

"I wasn't going to tell you. I'm sorry, but seeing him reminded me of how much I want to be with you again. I want to finish what we started last night."

It was a cold reply and in ugly logic. Seeing Will should have made him feel guilty, but instead, he was asking to see me again with nothing but a door to stop Will from hearing. My husband thought Harry was a friend - that was clear when he'd invited him to the party - but Harry wasn't after his friendship. He was after his wife.

"That came out wrong," Harry added quietly. "I'm sorry."

"We really shouldn't be doing this." Leaning against the sink, I traced a question mark in the steam on the glass of the cubicle. There were so many things wrong with the situation, my marriage and age being just two factors, but it was slowly transpiring that Sober Layla was just as weak as Layla the Lush.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, no doubt realising that he couldn't be bothered if he was going to have to work too hard to convince me. There were plenty others who'd love a little afternoon delight with him at just the click of his well-skilled fingers. "I'll send you the details of the hotel, and I'll be there waiting for you. Please come, Layla. Bye!"

Without giving me a chance to speak, he hung up, leaving me with a dial tone and a dilemma.

Downstairs, I found Rose in the kitchen, cooking bacon and drinking a Bloody Mary. Hair scraped up on top of her head, no makeup, and bunny pyjamas, she continued to dance once she realised I was watching her little performance.

"Morning! I was hoping the bacon alarm would wake you," she grinned, holding up the glass of red liquid missing the required celery. "Want one?"

I puffed my cheeks out and made a retching noise. "That's a no. I can't drink those when I haven't been drinking. Are you still drunk?"

Opening the fridge, I poured a glass of orange juice and drank it in one go before pouring another. I sat on one of kitchen stools and watched in admiration as Rose moved around the kitchen like she hadn't crawled up the stairs the previous night.

"I might be," she shrugged, "but these bad boys are helping me keep the hangover at bay until I get home. Will left early. Was he in a bad mood last night?"

After placing food on the table, she sat next to me and signalled for me to eat. I reluctantly picked up a bacon sandwich but didn't eat. It was easy to place the blame on too much tequila, but in truth, I was still debating Harry's invite, and being reminded of Will's bad mood made the nausea worse.

"He was annoyed that I was rude to Harry," I muttered into the rim of my glass, scared even mentioning his name would cause psychic Rose to figure out where I was thinking of going. "Just think he was a bit drunk and tired."

Mid-chew, Rose raised her eyebrow at me skeptically and rolled her eyes. The three of us were friends and had been for years, but she was well aware that my husband could be... not the greatest or most loving husband. It hadn't escaped my thinking that she only kept up a friendship with him because he'd stop her from coming to the house if she were ever to become vocal about her dislike of his behaviour.

Swallowing, she kept her opinion on Will to herself and went to Harry. "This is what I mean by you-know-who causing you trouble. Best to just keep away."

"You're right," I nodded. "I will."


	10. Woman

 

Pushing open the glass double doors, I couldn't deny I was nervous. I'd tried everything to get out of this meeting, but as with most things, I'd been told that not going wasn't an option. There was no way I could tell management why I didn't want to go. All I could do was suck it up and agree to be there.

I hadn't seen Will since my night with Layla, and I was dreading having to be in the same room knowing I'd actively pursued and slept with his wife. It was hard to say I regretted having sex with her because I couldn't honestly say I did, but the minute she'd left the hotel room, guilt had hit me like a tonne of bricks. Will was a good guy, and I liked him a lot. He deserved better.

The plan was to arrive late so I didn't run the risk of being alone with him, but it failed miserably when I walked into the boardroom to find Will leaning back in his chair, talking on the phone. I froze and hoped he hadn't seen me, but my hold-all clipped the glass panel in the door and the noise caused him to look up.

"Ah! I'll have to go, Darling. Harry just walked in!" he smiled, getting to his feet.

I hovered near the door, waiting for him to finish his call to his wife, trying to imagine Layla's reaction to the mention of my name. Not contacting her had been difficult, and I felt shit for not explaining why. I only hoped she didn't hate me. Will was nodding along as she spoke on the other end. Looking at me, he pointed to the phone, rolled his eyes and used his hands to mimic her talking. Forcing a smile, I was surprised by how much the action irritated me.

"Ok, ok. Bye, Layla!"

Hanging up, he rolled his eyes again and laughed. "Sorry! She goes on a bit!"

"Didn't need to rush for me." Ignoring the statement, I returned the offer of his hand and shook it reluctantly. "Where are the others?"

"They're with Terry. Some of the fixtures came in and the lads wanted to check them out." Looking pleased with himself, Will sat back down and patted the table so I'd sit near him. I defiantly chose a seat further away. "They should be back in a sec. I'll get Terry to take you after the meeting if you have time?"

I glanced at the door, willing the lads to walk through it and save me from what was to be an awkward conversation. How could it be anything but when all I could think about was how good his wife looked naked?

When we'd first met, I thought Layla was a nightmare. She'd looked me up and down with unrestrained disapproval, her blue, heavily made-up eyes rolling as she'd sneered that she knew who I was. She was so rude, as people often were when they met me and assumed I was the person the read about in the tabloids. At first, I didn't blame Will for being so disregarding of her, barely acknowledging that she'd walked away. I could only imagine what shit he got from her at home! But she'd looked so sad and fed up sat outside alone that against my first impression, I wanted to look after her. As we talked, the barrier had lowered a little and I enjoyed her company. She was witty and smart. I especially loved that when she smiled, her dimpled cheeks matched my own.

I went home that night after far too much to drink, regretting agreeing to have early breakfast with Nick and some other friends. I'd not expected to see Layla again for a long time. We'd had a nice conversation, a little flirty, and I hoped she'd at least changed her mind about me. That was it, as far as I was concerned.   
Until the next day when I'd woken up rock hard, dreaming about the heat I'd felt between her legs when I'd put my hands on her thigh to stop her from leaving. Seeing her later that morning in the cafe, hungover in paint-splattered clothes with very little makeup on, looking like she didn't want to speak to me at all, had been a shock to my system, adding fuel to my apparent desire. It had been game over for me then, as I caught a glimpse of the bare skin on her hips when her t-shirt rose up as she'd reached for her order. I wanted her.

That feeling had only increased when we ran into each other at that nightclub. Layla had looked so different to the other times I'd seen her, dancing close with her red-haired friend. She'd laughed and paid no attention to those around her. I'd thought she was much older the first night, but as she swayed her hips and sang along to the music, I saw a side to her that was youthful and fun.

When we'd spoken, I found myself wanting her more and more. We flirted openly. I hadn't been able to take my eyes off her crimson lips and her cleavage in the low-cut top she'd worn. The way she looked at me as I spoke and in the long, sexually tense gap before I impulsively asked for her number suggested that, perhaps, she had thawed to me. Her hand on my shoulder and the minimal space between our bodies suggested that the attraction between us was mutual, and that swapping numbers would lead us down a dangerous path.

I was thinking back to the almost kiss we'd shared, how it had taken everything in me not to kiss her properly when she'd pressed her full lips against the pad of my finger, when the boardroom door opened and I was brought back to the present situation. In walked the rest of the band and various other people who made the important decisions for us. Liam spotted me first, eyes crinkling in a smile as Louis greeted me in typical Louis fashion.

"Finally decided to join us did you, lad? What time d'you call this?"

"Sorry! Alarm didn't go off," I muttered with a shrug, "how were the... uh, fixtures?"

"Haz, they look sick!" Liam took the seat next to me, and pulled out his phone. Opening the camera roll, he showed me the photos he'd taken of the long, red metal ramp-type bars and muttered, "wouldn't want to fall on one of them though. It would kill."

As I opened my mouth to proclaim my likelihood of being the first to fall, the voice that seemed to leave my mouth was Will's as he beat me to a reply.

"Hopefully there'll be no injuries," he chuckled nervously, and I could see him thinking of suggesting everything be padded and we be dressed in suits made of bubble wrap. Thinking of the possible lawsuits against his company, he added weakly, "that's the last thing we want."

As he stuck one hand in his pocket while the other adjusted his tie nervously, the sight of his elder business partner seemed to relax him. Terry strolled into the room, glancing around to make sure everyone seemed happy. Reaching the top of the table, he smiled warmly at Will and patted his back.

"Everyone seemed to love them," he said quietly. "Good job."

The praise seemed to give Will his confidence back that nobody would end up losing a limb on his work. Grinning proudly, he then cleared his throat and began the meeting.

 

I tried my best to focus on what was being said, further ideas for our next, bigger tour, and what we as a band wanted for the details in terms of the stage design. There was discussions of fireworks, lighting, backdrops, artwork, graphics, ways in which we'd get to the middle of the venue for those who were further in the back. It was all discussed and we threw out suggestions in while Will's assistant jotted them all down.

Every time I looked at Will's face, all I could think about was Layla. The look of nerves on her beautiful face that hadn't left until we'd finally kissed, running my hands up her thighs, fingertips grazing the lace and coming in contact with her bare skin. The involuntary sound I'd made, one of pure need for her, had seemed to relax her a little. She'd turned me on more than I had ever been before. I'd already been trying desperately not to get hard, but that had been my undoing.

Most of all, the thoughts I repeatedly had to blink away (or find myself in the position of having an unwanted hard on in a dull meeting which the lads would never let me forget) was the way she'd bitten her lip as I'd kissed my way up her thigh, and the sound as she arched her back under me and came.

"Y'ok Harry?" Will asked. "You look a little off-colour?"

Panicked, I forced a smile and tried to look confused. "I'm fine! A little hungry maybe, but I'm good."

"Maybe we should take a break?" Terry suggested from his seat next to me. Standing and looking upon multiple nods of agreement, he clapped his hand and smiled. "Excellent!"

With a collective sound of relief, everyone in the room seemed to burst with movement; stretching, yawning, and standing up to go outside to smoke before lunch was brought in. Being the only other non-smoker in the band besides me, Niall came to sit in Liam's recently vacated seat. Instead of talking to me, he leant on the table toward Will.

"How long have you been married?"

Will looked up from his phone and laughed as he grimaced. "Seven long years in August."

Niall glanced at me with a smirk, before continuing. "We met your wife at the party a couple months back. She seemed like a top girl. Didn't she, Harry?"

I sank in my seat. My friend had no idea of what I'd done, but had been joking about me having some sort of crush on her. He thought he was being amusing, but I just wanted him to shut up. Thankfully, I didn't have to give my strangled reply, because Will stole it from me.

"Looks can be deceiving," he laughed, rolling his eyes and setting his phone down on the table. I noticed the background picture was not of Layla, but one of the generic ones that came with the phone.

'She'd be my background,' I thought to myself, bitterly, before catching it and pushing it down.

"Take some advice from me, boys. Don't get married young, if at all. Play the field, and don't let a woman tie you down... no matter how good they are in bed." He let out a raucous laugh, as though maybe he'd been joking. While Niall and I joined in out of politeness, I knew he was serious.

Niall hadn't been there to see or hear Will's previous putdowns directed at Layla, but as he sat back in his chair, I turned and caught him frowning. Eyes meeting mine, he raised his eyebrows and I was relieved that he hadn't liked the comment either.

"By the way, we're having a little shindig at my house this weekend that we'd love you to come to. I know it'll probably be boring for you, partying with us oldies, but that's one thing I can say about Layla – she can put together a good party." The grin on Will's face turned my stomach, like he'd somehow paid her a huge compliment.

The return of everybody else signalled the end of our chat, thankfully interrupting before I could make a fool of myself by attempting to defend Layla.

Layla, a woman I'd slept with and hadn't contacted since. As the meeting continued, I once again tried to at least pretend I was listening to what was being said, laughing when everyone else did and nodding when I vaguely heard something I might agree with. But guilt was gnawing at my stomach, regret building with every minute. From the get-go, she'd had this idea of who I was – someone who slept around and chased notches on my bedpost. By not contacting her, all I had done was exactly what she'd expected me to do. I should have at least made it clear that I liked her, but I had felt bad about Will, and despite how horrible he talked about her, I still felt bad. Sort of.

 

 

As we stepped from the building into the mid-afternoon sun, I pulled Liam to one side.

"I need you to do me a massive favour."

"Whatever you need, mate," he answered, making me smile.

"I need you to come with me to that party on Saturday." As expected, he frowned. "I said I'd go while you were out smoking, and now I'll feel shit if I don't go. I promise we won't have to stay long."

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, and he lowered his voice. "Nothing to do with your crush on the his missus, then?"

Laughing, I held up my hands and shrugged. "Okay! Okay, you got me there. Yes, I fancy Layla."

Liam joined in with my laughter, covering his mouth with his fist and patted my shoulder. "I knew it!"

"Listen, I know nothing can happen, but I just want to see her. Can you come with me?" I was trying not to sound desperate, but there was no way I was turning up on my own. "I'll owe you one!"

He took a second to look me over, wondering if he should be encouraging me going after a married woman. Thankfully, he must have thought me a better man than I was because he sucked the air between his teeth, exhaled and nodded.

"Of course I will, mate. Just... don't do anything stupid, yeah?"

Liam was being a good friend, and I felt bad for lying, but I also felt elated to know that on Saturday, I would see Layla and hopefully make things right.


	11. Ice Cream

The day was hot, nearly overwhelmingly so with the thick and heavy humidity that hung in the London air. Thankfully, Harry's hotel room had a large balcony, sliding glass doors, and air conditioning. I lay in bed alone, naked and still tingling with pleasure, listening to the city sounds outside while he was in the other room taking a phone call he hadn't been able to ignore. It was hard to feel guilt for our actions when there were moments like this, contentment replacing the tingles from my earlier orgasms and settling deep into my bones.

**•**

As I'd walked into Harry's hotel room, I'd allowed myself to admit that there had been no chance of me declining his invitation. I was always going to say yes, especially after Will's tantrum from the night before. Harry made me feel...good, and I craved that feeling especially when my husband made me feel so shitty.

Harry had been on me straight away, pressing hot, wet kisses to my lips that left me giddy as he backed me against the door.

"I wanted to do this last night," he'd murmured, mouth working its way down my neck and chest before reaching my breast. "I wanted to fuck you the minute you stormed out with those bottles, pissed off and angry."

"I wanted to smash them over your head." Gasping, I leaned my head back against the door while Harry lowered down onto his knees. Last time, I'd been given wine and been slowly undressed; this time, I hadn't even put my bag down.

"I noticed." Grinning up at me, he pushed the hem of my peach cotton summer dress up my thighs to my hips. My tights and panties were then pulled down and thrown to one side when I stepped out of them.

I was weak the minute his tongue found my clit, his face buried in my mound and hands pulling my thighs apart so he could get closer still. The heat of his mouth, wet and soft, had me whimpering his name in seconds. I searched for something to hold onto, to keep my knees from buckling and sending me to the floor, but found nothing. My knees did just that, eliciting a muffled groan of approval from Harry as my heat pressed fully against his tongue.

He shifted, lifting one of my legs onto his shoulder, then used his other shoulder to shift my other leg up onto him; with my weight fully supported by Harry's hands on my upper thigh and his mouth on my pussy, I had nowhere to go and no way to escape his hungry, swirling laps.

It wasn't long before the telltale heat stirred in my stomach, making my breathing heavier and my moans louder. I wished I could scream out from the intensity of his attentions, but I was aware that there was only a thin piece of wood separating us from the hotel's public hallway. I was sure neither Harry nor I wanted any passers-by to think there was anything suspicious going on in his room.

With both hands buried in Harry's locks and my toes curled against his back, I came, once and then twice, his tongue refusing to stop, no matter how hard I pulled his hair to ease the pressure on my exhausted nerve endings.

"Harry, please," I whimpered. The fear of everyone in the building knowing what we were doing quickly became very real.

I exhaled loudly with relief when he stopped, turning his mouth onto my inner thigh and kissing it gently with a soft chuckle.

"Are you okay?" he murmured against my skin, his hot breath tickling as he spoke, a question he asked often, as if he was worried I hadn't enjoyed myself.

"No!" I laughed, breathing heavily and dabbing my fingertips at the beads of sweat across my forehead. "I hope I wasn't too loud."

Harry helped me stand and wiped his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt. "I don't care, I love hearing you." Shrugging, he stood and pulled me close to him, the taste of my orgasm on his tongue as he kissed me. "In fact, I plan on hearing you come as many times as I possibly can tonight."

**•**

Harry strolled back into the bedroom, naked and proud. I was quickly learning that he was very comfortable being naked, and I imagined that if my body looked as good as his, I would be too. Placing his phone back onto the bedside table, he climbed back into bed and wrapped himself around me.

"No more calls, I promise," he muttered, kissing my shoulder and stroking his hands along my stomach and up to my breasts. "You have my undivided attention."

"Before you get too carried away, can I ask you something?"

Harry pouted slightly that I'd stopped him, but nodded.

"Why didn't I hear from you? I knew perfectly well it was meant to be a one-off, but to hear nothing? I mean, I don't know you, really, but I didn't expect that from you."

He thought about it, and I half-expected him to say he didn't want to discuss the matter, but he shifted closer and brought the hand on my breast up to my cheek.

"You are married, Layla. We both try and ignore that fact, but you are. You blew my mind that night, and I wanted to see you again the next night, and the night after that, but you have a husband. A husband that I know, and a husband who loves you." I wished I'd never asked; as I tried to turn my head away, his hand held me in place. "I came to your barbecue because I wanted to say sorry for flirting with you and for meeting you here, but you were angry with me, and I hated that. The second I saw you, I wanted to make it right. I didn't want you upset."

I considered his answer, considered whether it was bullshit, or if he was being genuine. The previous night, I had been convinced he was a good liar, but there was something about his answer that made me rethink that.

"Are you going to disappear again after tonight?" Looking him right in the eye, I dared him to lie. If he was going to ghost me, I wanted to be prepared for it when I left.

"No," he whispered against my lips. I waited for him to convince me more, but nothing came. The decision to believe him was up to me.

After a moment of hesitation, unsure whether I wanted to put myself at further risk, I kissed him back, the kind of kiss that started gentle but grew into more. I rolled my body to press against his, Harry's hand sliding under the back of my neck as he shifted to lie between my legs. As his erection settled against my wet slit, he slid it up and down, causing his breathing to falter and me to whimper loudly that I wanted him. Wrapping my legs around his hips, feet against the back of his muscular thighs, I arched my back as his hard cock filled me up for the second time that night.

"Fuck," I whispered against Harry's shoulder, my teeth grazing his skin as he thrust slowly and deliberately. "Harry, that feels so good."

The first time we'd had sex that evening had been hard and frantic. To be honest, I was still trembling from his actions by the door. As we'd fallen on the bed and he'd pushed my dress up around my waist, too impatient to undress me, he'd whispered that he'd been hungry for me since leaving my party. So much so, that he'd gone home and made himself come with the taste of my undoing still on his fingers as he'd sucked them into his mouth.

My legs had widened to welcome him, his confession sending my arousal through the roof. He'd kissed me as his cock slid into me, both of us whimpering and clawing at each other to get closer. I could taste myself on his tongue as it dragged against mine.

"See, you taste so good, Layla," he'd moaned, pulling away so he could thrust into me fully.

This second time, however, he wanted to enjoy every second, to soak up every feeling of my body connecting with his. Our hips moved slowly in time with each other, and I felt every delicious inch of his length move inside of me. I'd enjoyed the desperate need of earlier, how he'd been unashamed of how much he wanted me, but this was just as thrilling.

My cheeks prickled with the heat spreading up from between my legs, an exquisite feeling that made my toes curl and my lips part as my head tilted back.

"You look so beautiful," Harry whispered, moving his face close to mine so he could watch me closely.

I wanted to feel self-conscious, to cover my face and hide away, but the way he stared at me as his pace quickened was so... No one had ever made me feel so... open. It felt like such a cliché that he made me feel beautiful - that when he said it, I believed him.

His orgasm hit him hard, eyes squeezing shut as his mouth fell open. A thrill ran through me watching him. I could now understand why he enjoyed watching me, because seeing the way his face transformed while his body tensed and shook was almost enough to send me over the edge myself. I'd never seen a man look attractive as they came – normally, they were a contorted, grunting shudder, red-faced and sweaty before they rolled over and went to sleep – but Harry looked like a work of art, something I was learning was quite common when it came to him.

My body had nothing left to give – Harry had worn me out completely. I was amazed I'd been able to keep up with his stamina. He was quick to recover, and was definitely up for making the most of our evening together.

I lay with my face pressed against his clammy chest, listening to his heart thump and his unsteady breathing, silently hoping I'd worn him out for a little longer than ten minutes this time. He stroked his fingers up and down my back, occasionally untangling his digits in my hair to run his hand from my neck down to the base of my spine, chuckling when I shuddered involuntarily.

"If I ordered room service, would you stay and have dinner with me?" he asked suddenly, like he had to get the question out quickly before he changed his mind. "I know it's not quite a candlelit dinner for two, but I could ask for some tea lights." He laughed quickly.

Was he nervous? We'd just had a lot of sex – I was hardly going to suggest dinner was too intimate of an idea.

"Food sounds excellent." I stretched out and grabbed my phone from the bedside table while Harry called downstairs. I wasn't surprised to see a message from Will saying he'd be late home from work and not to wait up; there was also a message from Rose asking if I wanted to go see a movie. I replied to Will first, knowing the lie I was going to tell.

 **Layla**  
_Ok, I'm out at the cinema with Rose anyway. I'll let you know if I decide to crash at hers._

His answer came quickly.

 **Will**  
_You should. I might be here all night. The band wanted changes done. Harry and Niall weren't happy with some of the layout._

My mouth dried up and I looked over at Harry who had his back to me, naked skin marked by my nails. Even texting my husband, I wanted to throw my phone aside and run my tongue along those shoulder blades. I wondered if Harry had purposely complained about something involving the set so Will would be occupied for the evening, even asking that Will dealt with it personally.

 **Layla**  
_Ok, I'll see you tomorrow evening then. Dinner with your mother remember x_

Will didn't reply, but I was fine with that. Now, I had to come up with an excuse not to see Rose until later. Suddenly, it dawned on me that essentially, I had the night free, a night where Will wouldn't be suspicious if I wasn't home. If necessary, I would confess to Rose where I was. As long as Harry was able to stay, so was I.

"Everything ok?" Harry asked, hanging up the phone and walking around the bed to grab his underwear in preparation for the arrival of our food.

I nodded and smiled. Was it presumptive that Harry was free? I might have been on the schedule until ten, then the next girl would come along. Maybe the offer of dinner was convenient for him, and he was killing two birds with one stone so that when Contestant Number Two arrived, he could get straight to business. My blood ran cold for a second when an inner voice suggested that maybe I was said Number Two – that there may have been someone in this bed before me.

Staying felt like a terrible idea – I was already preparing for him to ghost me again when I left, so why stay the night when I could spend the evening having fun with my friend? I'd already promised myself that if he pulled the disappearing act again, I wasn't going to freak out about it; we had fun, and that's all I needed.

"My friend, Rose, wants to go see a movie." Keeping my expression innocent, I saw him smirk like he already knew what I was leading to.

"Are you going?"

As he stood in the doorway, I once again marvelled at his physique. He was a perfect specimen of man, and I owed an almighty thanks to whomever or whatever was responsible for allowing me to sample this perfection in its prime.

"Well, I'm not sure," I shrugged.

"What time do you have to leave? Shall I cancel food?" Seeing the expression on my face, he quickly added, "I want you to stay and eat with me, though."

"Ok," I nodded and picked up my phone and started to type a message explaining to Rose that I could meet her at seven o'clock. I felt foolish for thinking of spending the night, and I felt some relief that I hadn't asked him outright.

"I'm waiting for you to say you could cancel your plans, Layla," Harry said seriously. My head snapped up to look at him as he folded his arms across his chest and smiled. "Are you going to the cinema?"

"No," I smirked, "I guess I'm not."

"And what time are you meant to be home? Can you stay late?"

"Mr. Styles," I sat forward in bed and locked eyes with him, ignoring the way he licked his lips and grinned at the sight of my breasts, "I don't have a curfew. You might think I'm a docile housewife who does everything my husband tells me, but I'm not under his thumb."

"You mean you could spend the night with me and not have to explain where you are?" he challenged, knowing fully well that I would have to.

"And why would I ever spend an entire night with you?"

"I think we've already made that quite clear." His tongue reappeared, but it was much slower and much more deliberate as it ran along his bottom lip. I clamped my mouth shut, unable to formulate a decent argument. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"And what question would that be?"

Harry strode over to the bed and climbed onto it on all fours, crawling up the bed until his face was close to mine. I leaned back to escape his demanding gaze, which sometimes felt like he could see all my deepest, darkest secrets – of which he was one – but he followed me until I was lying down, and knelt over me.

"If you spent the night with me, would you have to tell Will?" The intensity and demand in his eyes surprised me. I guessed the downside (and also upside) to sleeping with a nineteen year old was an insatiable appetite. "Would you be able to spend the night with me?"

"I'm sure you have another willing booty call to keep you warm once I leave," I teased, attempting to slide out from under him, but he shifted his arm and stopped me. "Okay, okay. Normally yes, of course I would have to make up an excuse, but he's working all night and thinks I'm with Rose."

"So, I'll ask again: can you stay?" He kissed me softly, his mouth feathery light against mine, tongue stroking along my bottom lip gently.

I felt giddy and gasped a breathy, "Okay."

Thankfully, as his hand began to stroke my right breast, I was saved by the bell of room service arriving. Harry leapt off the bed, grabbed his robe and headed to answer the door.


	12. The Sex Has Made Me Stupid

We ate our dinner on the sofa, the large TV playing a random movie as we talked and polished off room service over glasses of wine. The mood was relaxed, the knowledge that we had hours to enjoy the time together erasing the tension and allowing us to enjoy each other's company. Neither of us were rushing off anywhere - the whole night was ours.

Harry had given me jogging bottoms and a long-sleeve, white top to wear as we ate. When he'd pulled out a large, leather overnight bag, I'd been suspicious that he'd planned to stay overnight with me, and I'd said as much to him. He shook his head, insisting he always carried spare clothes.

As I ate my sandwich, I would catch him glancing at me – or rather, the top I wore, which was practically sheer (I suspected that was exactly why he'd given it to me).

"Pervert," I muttered, fully enjoying the attention.

Harry's gaze lifted to meet with mine as he smirked and shrugged. "I'm only human."

Rolling my eyes, I set my plate down onto the coffee table and lay back on the sofa, stretching out to rest my feet on his thighs. He raised an eyebrow but didn't complain; instead, he moved his plate from the arm of the sofa onto the floor before settling back into the cushions.

"Let me ask you something."

Something about Harry's tone filled me with dread. I could tell this wasn't going to be a what's your favourite animal conversation, so I took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue.

"Why did you agree to meet me – today and before?"

I rolled my eyes again and shook my head. "I'm not answering that. It really doesn't matter why I'm here, does it? I could ask why you want to have sex with a woman ten years older than you, but it won't make a difference."

Harry pouted and I felt bad – not bad enough to answer his question, but enough that I curled the top half of my body to be closer to him, the side of my face pressed against the back of the couch.

"Let me ask you something." Reaching a hand out, I stroked his bare arm as it lay across my knees.

"You already asked me a question," he sulked, bottom lip protruding, making him look childish.

"It's an important one, and I gave an answer to yours. It just wasn't one you wanted to hear."

Harry didn't say a thing; he just looked at me like I'd refused him pudding.

"My question is," I pointed a finger to Harry's chest, "do you have four nipples?" Starting to giggle, I hoped he wasn't offended, and was relieved to hear him let out a shy and embarrassed laugh that made his cheeks dimple as he covered them.

"Yes, yes I do," his brow furrowed as I continued to laugh. "You can't laugh at my nipples! You shouldn't mock the afflicted."

"I can, and I am. If I'd noticed before, I'm not sure I'd have slept with you."

Harry feigned offence, forehead wrinkling and mouth parting in mock anger. His hands flew to my hips, fingers tickling my sides, making me erupt into louder giggles. He was laughing now as well, eyes wide with determination and amusement while I squirmed and wriggled about.

"Ok! Ok! I'm sorry!" I pleaded, afraid instinct would take over and I'd end up kicking out and hurting him by accident.

Stopping his torture, Harry pulled me up onto his lap, a satisfied grin on his face.

"I'm glad you've realised the error of your ways."

"Yes, you and your extra nipples are perfectly normal," I yelped as his fingers touched my sides again. "I'm joking! I'm sorry."

To ensure he was fully distracted, I cupped his face and kissed him – deeply, slowly – his mouth welcoming my tongue gratefully.

"I accept your apology," he muttered, grabbing my hips and pulling my lower half tightly against him.

Feeling him growing harder against my pubic bone as he groaned loudly into my mouth, I rocked my hips, watching his expression become soft and dreamy as I rubbed against him. I slid my hand between us and stroked his cock over the fabric of his briefs, enjoying the thrill that ran through my body hearing his moan while feeling him thrust forward into my hand.

"How about that bath you talked about?" I murmured.

"Later," Harry breathed, a hand working its way along my stomach, pulling the drawstring on my bottoms undone and tugging the waistband down. "Stand up." His voice was gruff and commanding, all humour gone. He wanted one thing, and one thing only.

I climbed off his knee and let my trousers fall to the floor, kicking them away while he yanked his own underwear down, erection springing free and slapping against his stomach. For a second, our eyes met while he stroked himself, thumb stroking his pink tip and making him gasp softly. Straddling him again, I kissed him hungrily; it had only been 45 minutes, but I was glad to feel his skin against mine once more.

I pressed my forehead to his, holding my breath as I raised my body up off of him and guided his cock into me. Harry's breathing hitched as I lowered back down, slowly taking him in fully to the base.

"Does that feel good?" Harry's teeth grazed my jaw, his hands gripping my ass tightly.

I whimpered a yes, knowing that his hands would leave marks on my skin, a shiver running down my spine at the thought. The bruise he'd left me with last time had left me unbelievably turned on – it was easy to explain if anyone noticed it, but I'd occasionally looked down at it and remembered what his mouth had felt like in that spot; it had gotten me through a few boring lunches, that was for sure.

Gripping the back of the sofa, arms on either side of Harry's head, I started to ride him faster.

"I'll let you do all the work," he grinned.

Letting his head fall back, hair covering my hands, Harry had a slack-jawed smile on his face. He watched my breasts bouncing under the fabric of the top he'd given me and bit his lip. I was starting to overheat, so I kept my body moving as I lifted the jumper up over my head and tossed it to one side.

Groaning and pulling me against him, Harry's mouth wrapped around my left nipple, tongue circling and teasing it while he pinched and teased the other one with his fingers. His breath scorched my skin while he dragged his mouth over my breasts, kissing and sucking and leaving more marks that I knew I should stop him from making, but I enjoyed too much.

My chest was forgotten suddenly, his body jerking back against the sofa and his lazy smile replaced with a crinkled brow and a clenched jaw.

"I want you to come," he panted, trying with all his might to stop himself from going over the edge.

"I'm not going to," I shook my head quickly, grabbing my own breasts and finding that getting him off had really become a turn on, "but I want you to. Come for me, Harry."

Not needing to be asked twice, he dug his fingers into my hips while a low, but loud, whimper fell from his mouth. His body shook as he swore through his release, eyes widening before clamping shut. He stiffened for a second or two then slackened, his breathing loud and heavy before he hugged me to his chest, mouth finding mine and lazily kissing me.

"Fuck! You're so good, I can't get enough of you," he panted, voicing exactly what I was thinking. "But now I'm all dirty. I think it's time for that bath we talked about."

•

"More questions," Harry asked suddenly, sitting up and disrupting me as I lay my head on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling in a post-coital, dreamy daze.

"What?" I sat up and twisted around to look at him, "No! No more questions."

"I want to know more about you, so yes, more questions."

Flashing me his most charming smile, I rolled my eyes in agreement and he clapped his hands together triumphantly. Realising that that smile probably got him a lot of what he wanted, I made a mental note not to fall for it in future, and decided take my own opportunity to pry.

"But!" Holding my finger up to halt his excitement, I readjusted my position so I was comfortable and ready for his questioning. "Only if I get to ask you questions, too. And I'm not answering anything I don't want to."

"I think you've forgotten who I am!" He put his hand to his chest and pretended to take offence, "I'm Harry Styles! You should know all about me."

"You told me not to believe everything I read in the paper. Although," Stretching out, I ran my finger over the tattoos on his ankles and avoided his eyes, "you haven't really done anything to disprove what I knew of you already."

Harry frowned, smile fading and lips becoming a straight, thin line. He was no longer pretending that I'd offended him. The public image he had was obviously a touchy subject for him, and despite his behaviour, I did know he wasn't some manwhore who liked older women. I got the sense that the age thing was irrelevant to him. It just so happened that I was another person he was attracted to who was older.

Neither of us said anything for what felt like an eternity, and I suspected he was trying to think of a way to get rid of me. Feeling bad for upsetting him, I moved to rest my head on his calves and looked up at him apologetically.

"You know I don't really see you like that, right? I was joking," I whispered, running my hand up his leg until it rested on his thigh. "That's why I want to ask you stuff too, I don't know anything about you."

Without a word, Harry got out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"Me and my big fucking mouth," I slapped my palm against my forehead and wondered if there would be any cabs outside the hotel, or if I'd need to call one. The evening was obviously ruined – there was no point in hanging around and making things even more awkward.


	13. Open

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I picked up my phone and saw it was earlier than I thought. I could probably even get the tube if I needed to. I was relieved that I'd at least worn flat shoes and not heels, so I wasn't a complete moron.

I turned when I heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. Harry came out looking less annoyed, but still said nothing until he got back into bed.

"So, Mrs. French, where are you from?"

The way his annoyance had slipped away threw me off, and I couldn't say anything at first. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd thrown me out of the room, chucking my clothes at me as he yelled ' _Read this in the papers, you old bitch!_ ' Perhaps I'd been with Will so long, I'd forgotten that most grown men didn't have tantrums, or sulk for hours, or make threats when they were upset or offended.

"Hm?" Harry prompted, expecting an answer.

"Uh... Liverpool," I replied, surprised that I'd given him the real answer and not the vague 'Up north' answer.

"A scouser, eh?" Putting on a Liverpudlian accent, he shifted closer to me, putting his hand on my shoulder to pull me down to lie next to him. "That accent's buried – why?"

Realising that the moment of upset was gone and Harry seemed to have already forgotten it, I frowned. "That's two questions; it's my turn."

"Ok! I'm ready."

"Why did you speak to me the night we met?"

Putting his finger to his mouth, he tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully, pondering the reason he'd approached me. After our brief awkward moment, I suspected he was regretting that decision and every one since which had led here. Humming loudly, he smiled at me cheekily and finally answered.

"Easy! I thought you looked fit." I narrowed my eyes at him while he giggled and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. Clearing his throat, he calmed his laughter. "As well as that – and this might surprise you – but I knew who you were. I'd sort of been watching you and wondering why Will kept leaving you alone."

I laughed, the sound much more bitter than I intended. "That's just how it works at those events; that's why I tend to spend them drunk."

"I'm getting that impression," Harry muttered with annoyance. At least whomever he married had very little chance of him letting them be left alone. "So, I was talking to my friend and watching you, but Will was gone for ages, so I thought I'd come and say hello."

Pinching his cheek, I leaned up to kiss him and hoped it would hide the sudden desire to cry. I'd been to many, many parties with Will, and I'd long since given up making an effort with the other guests. When we were first married, I'd look forward to socialising and being the woman on William French's arm, but he'd quickly nipped my life-of-the-party spirit in the bud. I was meant to be seen and not heard. Hearing Harry say he'd noticed me, and that he'd made the effort to say hello, doubled my affection for him. I felt even worse for insulting him.

"Aren't you a sweetheart!"

"Maybe, but you were so rude!" I covered my face in embarrassment as he laughed. I'd been obnoxious, and I did regret it. "I was gonna leave you to sulk on your own if Will hadn't suddenly appeared."

"But then you followed me outside."

"Is that another question?" Harry narrowed his eyes and put his palm on my stomach, sliding it up to sit under my breasts. "'Cause I have plenty for you."

"No, it was a statement of fact." Smiling sweetly, I placed my hand on his, fingertips brushing the hair on his forearm. "I'm prompting you to continue."

"I didn't intentionally follow you out. I wasn't looking for you, but I knew that's where you were and it didn't put me off," he said coyly. "Let's put it that way."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he kissed me suddenly, tongue silencing me while his fingers pinched my nipple until it was painfully hard. Burying my fingers in his hair, I moaned against him. The picture of his hand on my thigh – which had stayed with me for weeks afterwards – popped back into my head, and I wondered what image of that night made him need to kiss me so hungrily.

As if reading my mind, he muttered against my lips, "I wanted to put my hand up your skirt. I could feel your heat, and it took everything to not do it."

"I didn't know whether to slap you or spread my legs."

I giggled when Harry groaned, putting his head in the crook of my neck. We lay there for a moment, both of us quiet. I couldn't believe how much had happened in the short time since that night. Not fond of rudeness or confrontation, Harry could have easily never spoken to me again. He could have gone back to his friends and pretended he hadn't seen me the next day when I'd walked into the deli. Instead, he'd actively approached me every time we were in the same space, always making that effort.

"What's your next question?" I asked, blocking the path my thoughts were going down. The thoughts about how different he was to Will.

Head popping back up, Harry looked excited to get his turn, "What do you do? For work."

My cheeks started to burn, and I felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I guess you could say that my job is being Mrs. William French." Watching Harry frown in confusion, I explained further, "Will's family – or rather, his mother – is very old-fashioned. Despite his dad having been pretty chilled, Verity is old school, so my role is to be Will's wife. I go to charity events, luncheons, and help plan the odd fundraiser, that sort of thing."

"You don't sound very excited by that." His lips pouted so I reached up and ran the tip of my finger over his bottom lip, enjoying how the pinkness complimented my peach-painted nails.

"I like the planning, but sitting around and having high tea while gossiping about which family is causing the latest scandal really isn't a lot of fun." Shrugging, I pulled the bed covers up to cover my chest, suddenly embarrassed by my own nudity. "I'd much rather have a real job, but the elder Mrs. French says no, so Will backs her up."

Remembering my day-to-day life and picturing the sour, stiff faces of the women I had to socialise with, I felt ashamed of my behaviour, of laying naked in bed with a 19 year old pop star. I could imagine them gossiping about me if word of our affair ever got out, their looks of disapproval as they muttered 'That's what you get for letting your son marry a woman of poor stock' against their china teacups.

Harry was frowning like he thought the idea was ridiculous but he didn't say anything, just kept his pouty lips closed and shifted himself closer to me.

"Ok, enough questions," he muttered, kissing me and pulling the sheet back down to my thighs, "more later."

**•**

Rose lay on the sofa in her pyjamas with a large mug of tea, and some bright and cheery breakfast show on the TV. I'd let myself in, but she didn't seem too surprised when I appeared in the doorway.

"Hello! You're up bright and ea-" dragging her eyes from the screen to look at me, her smile dropped and her eyes widened, "Uh... where have you been? Actually, don't answer that. I can work that one out for myself."

"I brought you a sausage and bacon baguette." I smiled meekly, hoping my peace offering would reduce any stern words she was possibly on the verge of throwing my way, "loads of brown sauce."

"Well, at least you know to placate me with food. You haven't completely lost your mind." Holding out her hand to accept her breakfast, she sat up then turned the volume right down.

I sat on the other, smaller sofa opposite where she sat and waited as she took a bite of her sandwich. I prayed the food would do its magic to calm her down. She wasn't angry or even judging me – I knew that for certain. She was worried, and knew that if anyone was to find out my life would be completely over, or at least very difficult.

"So," Rose started, trying to remain serious whilst licking brown sauce off of her pinky finger, "a migraine is what they're calling sex with a nineteen year old, is it?"

Smirking, I shrugged my shoulders in innocence before answering. "Well, I could hardly tell you where I was in a text! 'Can't do cinema, about to have a world-famous pop star bend me over the back of the sofa. I'm free tomorrow?'"

Her eyes became round like saucers and she couldn't help but grin. Rose really wanted to pretend like she wasn't happy with what I was up to, but she also wanted to ask for all the juicy details. My sex life usually consisted of living vicariously through her and her dates and one night stands, or passable-but-not-very-exciting nights with Will on birthdays and anniversaries. If I was lucky.

"Lil, I have to say, I have never seen anyone look like they've been shagging all night as much as you do right now." Shaking her head, Rose's demeanour changed. She became like a mother who just found out her daughter wants to go on the pill. "It's just really lucky you came here first and not home because you look – quite literally – absolutely fucked."

I looked down at myself and knew she was right. I'd been mortified walking through the hotel in yesterday's clothes minus my knickers, which I'd stuffed into my handbag. I'd tried to re-style my hair and tidy my makeup so it didn't look so dishevelled, but as my heels clicked on the marble floor noisily, I knew that all those who saw me knew I was doing the walk of shame.

"I am knackered, Rose. I've never been so worn out in my entire life." Slumping back in my seat, I kicked off my shoes and stretched out my feet, thighs and calves protesting as I did so. "I think we went to sleep about five, then woke at seven, had sex again, another shower – where more sex was had – then I left because Harry had an interview to get to and I was worried my vagina was going to fall out from overuse."

Rose snorted into her tea, then tried to look sympathetic but failed. "Good night then, was it?" she grinned.

"I'm red raw, exhausted, and feel like I ran a marathon." I felt relief wash over me that my best friend was willing to talk and joke about something we both knew was so wrong. "It was the best night of my entire life."

"I'm glad," Rose shook her head once more but grinned, before asking the million dollar question, "So, are you going to see him again?"

Remembering the way Harry and I had parted, a hot and slow kiss against the door which echoed the last time we'd said goodbye. His hands had cupped my jaw as he'd muttered 'When can I see you again?'

I'd given a vague answer, not wanting to get my hopes up again, but a message had come through from him while I was sat in the back of the taxi on my way to Rose's. A bunch of dates he was free, and a disclaimer that sometimes those dates changed. Playing it casual, I said I'd check my diary and get back to him, when in reality I couldn't wait to get my next fix of Harry Styles.


	14. The Other Man

Terrance Daniels always made me smile. Had it not been for him insisting I come along, I would never have agreed to go golfing. I hated the so-called sport with a passion, but I was very fond of Will's long-time family friend, who also happened to be his business partner.

Terry had started the company with Will's father in the 70's, when they were both pot-smoking hippies with Oxford degrees and a love of music. However, my father-in-law died shortly after Will and I married, meaning my husband had to fill his dad's shoes.

I liked Terry a lot, and would always find myself sat with him at family gatherings. Both of us were the outsiders who didn't fit with my mother-in-law's idea of how a person should be. She was the epitome of prim and proper with her always-impeccable hair and flawless dresses, never to be caught dead without her double-strand of akoya pearls. We, on the other hand, were the riff-raff her husband and son had brought into the family.

"Layla! I'm so happy you came, sweetheart," Terry greeted me as Will and I walked into the mahogany-walled clubhouse. He pulled me into a warm, fatherly hug then whispered, "your smile almost looks genuine."

"My smile is always genuine for you, Terrance. You know that." Leaning my head against his chest, I enjoyed how comforting he felt. My own father had never been around, so I guessed this old sellout was the closest thing I'd ever had or would ever have to the real deal. "I told Will that you both owe me large drinks for this."

"It's a deal!" He grinned before letting me go and hugging Will, who had started a conversation with Terry's daughter, Mia.

I was about to say my own hello to Mia when suddenly I heard Will call out to someone.

"Ah, Mr. Styles! I hope you're ready to lose!"

My head snapped around to the main entrance so fast that I thought it was going to roll right off my shoulders. Dumbfounded, I watched Will and Terry walk towards Harry and shake his hand. He was dressed head-to-toe in navy, his hair pushed back with the same sort of zig-zagged headband I'd worn in the late nineties with my knock-off Kappa tracksuit. Somehow, he still looked incredible.

"Are you ok, Lil?" Mia asked, placing a hand on my polo-clad shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I forced a smile, tearing my eyes from a smiling, chatty Harry. "I think I might need one of those drinks your dad owes me sooner than I'd thought."

Will normally didn't invite me when he played golf, but now I knew why he'd flat-out told me I was coming whether I liked it or not. He was still angry at my rudeness to Harry at our party, and dragging me along today was a way to show his client that his wife wasn't a complete bitch. Will was expecting me to play nice in both senses.

"Hello, Harry," I smiled, touching his bicep and kissing his cheek. Being so close made it doubly difficult to suppress the memories of being tangled in the sheets, sweaty and needy, whimpering his name. "So nice to see you again. My husband neglected to inform me you were joining us today."

Harry grinned at me, looking me up and down in my horrible golfing gear – salmon pink shorts and a navy polo shirt similar to his. "Good to see you, too."

Our conversation was cut short by Will leading me outside to the waiting golf carts. Terry and Harry were in one; Will, Mia, and I were in the other.

"You could have told me Harry was coming. I don't have anything against the guy," I murmured to Will while we followed the cart in front. I was trying to sound casual, but I just wanted to be sick.

"Be nice to him, Layla; that's all I'm telling you," he replied firmly, his jaw clenched. "For some reason, he insisted I ask you along when we planned this. Don't make me regret that I did."

Will looked stressed – was there more to this than I knew? Maybe the band weren't happy with the stage, and this was all some attempt to keep the contract. Or – and this, I truly doubted – he knew that Harry had taken a shine to me, so he was playing along with it. It was more than likely the first scenario, but there was an odd hope that Will may be a little jealous that Harry was giving me attention.

"I'll be good, I promise." I reached a hand to his knee as he drove but he didn't acknowledge it, so I pulled it back and wondered how I was going to keep myself together.

 

I'd come along for the ride but declined the invitation to play, choosing instead to act as a sort-of caddy for Will, even if I had no idea what I was doing. Quickly, however, my attention turned to Mia. She was chatting and laughing with Harry, playing with her long, blonde, braided hair as they spoke. Jealousy formed an unexpected ball in the pit of my stomach. Mia was a tall, gorgeous, twenty-three year-old with a model's figure she'd inherited from her mother, an actual former model. In short, she was perfect for Harry, and everything I was not. My brain started to picture how good they would look having sex. It would be the sort you'd see in artsy, black and white photos where sex is erotic and not at all messy or a little bit gross. Editorial Sex – that's what it would be.

'You've let him see you naked,' I thought to myself, my hands gripping onto Will's wedge so tight my knuckles turned white as I was overwhelmed by shame and embarrassment. 'Not once, but twice! He was probably trying not to vomit watching your fat, cellulite-covered arse jiggle.' I groaned out loud in disgust and bit my lip, hoping nobody noticed.

Both Harry and Will did, speaking over each other to ask if I was alright.

"I'm fine." The words came out strangled as I forced a smile; I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

They played for a little while longer until Terry had to leave, leaving just the four of us. I'd contemplated going back to the clubhouse with him but the idea of leaving Harry and Mia alone was almost as bad as leaving Harry and Will alone, so I was stuck in a golfing nightmare. Stuck with my husband, my lover, and the girl making eyes at my lover.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Will interrupted my thoughts as he put a gloved hand gently on my face, thumb stroking my cheek. "Are you really that unhappy here?"

"Darling," I smiled, tilting my head against his hand, surprised by his affection but enjoying it, even if it was the worst place for it to happen. "I'm fine. I'm just sad Terry couldn't stay longer. He's the whole reason I bloody agreed to come!"

Will smiled, hand now stroking strands of hair back off of my face. "He said he'll make it up to you – we both will. I'm happy you came."

He was about to kiss me when we both noticed Mia heading to one of the golf carts. She was angry about something, her pretty face red and frowning. When I looked at Harry to find an answer, he simply shrugged and shook his head before turning back to take his shot.

"Shall I go check –" I started, but Will stopped me.

"I'll go. You stay here and play nice with Harry. Mia'll be fine." Will looked stressed again, and I was relieved that it wasn't me who was the one to have possibly ruined a perfectly decent business round of golf. Calling to his client, he tried to sound breezy, but I could tell he was worried. "Harry, I'll see you back at the club, and leave you in my wife's capable hands."

Will took his golf bag from me and followed after Mia, who was desperately trying to start the cart. I watched them exchange angry words until she finally moved over for him to sit in the driver's seat. As they drove away, I should have felt relief at being alone with Harry. Instead, I felt uneasy – like there was something wrong, but I had no idea what it was.

The sound of Harry's club thwacking against the ball as he swung brought my attention back to him.

"What happened? Did you say something to her?" I quizzed, walking to stand in front of him so he had no choice but to listen.

"I have no idea. We weren't even talking to each other. She just stormed off." He paused, unsure if he was going to speak again, but his face became defiant as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Not that you would know that. You were too distracted."

I blinked at him a few times, processing the meaning behind his words. Was he jealous? He wouldn't be that stupid, would he? He had asked Will to bring me; did he not think that I would occasionally interact with my own husband?

"All I asked was if you had said anything to her; don't lash out at me because I was being a wife."

I was tempted to jump in the third buggy and drive away. I was too old for the games and the drama, but knew having time with Harry outside of a hotel room was a rarity, and that's what kept my feet planted to the ground.

"You're right; I'm sorry," Harry reached a hand out, his fingers caressing my arm. "It's just... It's harder than I thought it would be to see you two together."

"Stop putting us both in this position then. If he invites you somewhere, decline. No coming to my house for parties, or arranging golfing afternoons, and definitely no insisting he bring me; it's not fair to you, me, or Will."

I wanted to hug Harry, to reassure that I still wanted him, but with the possibility of lenses lurking in the bushes, I simply touched his shoulder and squeezed it. "Please?"

"I promise," Harry's smile was sad but he didn't care about us being seen. Pulling me into an embrace, Harry muttered, "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Any time you change your mind, just say," I replied, half-heartedly, worried he would actually end things.

Harry let go of me and shook his head. "Oh no, Mrs. French, you don't get out of this that easily." His cheeky smirk was back, loaded with suggestion like we hadn't just had a serious heart-to-heart. "Now, how about I show you how to play?"

"I'm not sure..."

Forcing me to take the club he was holding, Harry's hands went to my hips and he spun me around. "We almost definitely need to work on your swing." He pressed his body against my back, arms around me and positioning our hands on the grip, before using his feet to spread my legs.

His instructions went no further. Instead, he put his mouth to my ear and spoke quietly, "I wish we could have sex right now, right here."

"If only I'd worn that skirt I had planned on wearing," I breathed, leaning back against his chest, the need to feel his hands on me growing rapidly. As he pressed himself against my behind, I felt Harry growing hard. "Isn't there somewhere we could go?"

"We can't risk being seen," he groaned, his grip on my hands tightening and his chin dropping onto my shoulders.

"Harry, you're humping my behind. That wouldn't look great either."

He stopped his movements and began to laugh. Slipping from his grip, I turned to face him, watching with amusement as he readjusted himself, frustration written on his face. Touching his chest lightly, I exhaled loudly and looked across the perfectly manicured green.

"Can we just go back to clubhouse? I've had enough golf."

"Maybe we can find a broom cupboard while we're there," Harry grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, hiking his golf bag up onto his shoulder. "You're not going to be my new golf buddy, then?"

"H, I was joking." Rolling my eyes, we both headed towards the cart. "Neither of those things are happening."

"I already have a golf buddy, actually," he winked at me and placed his free hand on the small of my back. "But I think you forget how persuasive I can be."


	15. Do I Wanna Know

 

The drive home with Will was quiet but surprisingly relaxed, with him tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while whistling to the songs on the radio. He was happy and satisfied that the afternoon had gone well. Harry had left us in good spirits, which Will put down to me being nice and friendly, but I knew it was because of the blowjob I'd given him in the cloakroom.

With the salty-sweet taste of him still on my tongue, I closed my eyes and relived the sound of his voice as he'd come, a whispered string of expletives while his hips bucked gently, the feel of hot liquid filling my mouth and sliding down my throat. I licked him clean as his dick softened, thrilled that he'd hiss and twitch every time my tongue touched anywhere that was still sensitive.

"You're amazing, y'know that?" he'd whispered, fingers loosening their grip on my ponytail.

Sitting back on my heels, I'd looked up at him and licked my lips proudly, forgetting for a moment the sordidness of me giving him head in a cloakroom. I'd tried to stay true to my word of not doing anything, but we hadn't been able to find our fellow golfers, and as Harry had said, he was very persuasive. The journey back to the clubhouse had been spent with his hand between my thighs, rubbing over my shorts while he made sure to drive over every bump to make my breasts bounce. He'd chuckle as I tried to cover my chest and refrain from moaning aloud. Despite my embarrassment at the time, I'd loved seeing how hard he'd been.

It was me who'd pulled him into the room, kissed him quickly, and dropped to my knees. Sliding his belt undone, I'd looked up at him and found the anticipation on his face so arousing that I slowed my movements, just to see his mouth parted and his eyes widen for that little bit longer. The back of Harry's head had hit the door when I took his hard cock in my hand and ran my tongue up the underside of his shaft. He'd exhaled heavily and swore before bending his neck to look back down at me and watch me take him in my mouth.

"Fuck! Baby, that feels so fucking good."

Spurred on by the term of affection and the groans that left his throat, I used my best tricks – ones I'd long forgotten I was capable of – and it wasn't long before the groans became whimpers and his hips began to move faster in time with my bobbing head.

I was pulled from my thoughts of how he'd pulled me to my feet so he could kiss me when Will spoke.

"I forgot to mention that I have to work tonight; is that ok?" It wasn't a question; he was going to work whether I liked it or not.

"That's fine. I have things I need to do anyway." Blinking away the heated memories, I attempted a smile and Will returned it, touching my knee briefly. "Was Mia ok? Did she say what upset her?"

"She was fine. I have no idea what was wrong. I dealt with it, though."

"It just didn't seem like her – she's normally so bubbly and happy," I pondered, curious if maybe she'd been hoping Harry would pay her more attention than he had.

"I don't know, Layla." Sighing, Will rolled his eyes and shook his head. He sounded irritated as he continued, "Maybe Harry said something to offend her; you know he has a reputation with the ladies."

Clamping my mouth shut, I didn't want to annoy him further, but I was glad to know that Harry had not upset Mia. I wanted to tell Will that he was wrong, but it wasn't worth making him angry by pushing the matter further. His mood was good and I didn't want to spoil that.

**•**

**Stella**  
_Open the door._

A text had come in from Harry, making me crinkle my forehead in confusion.

 **Layla**  
_What? My door?_

 **Stella**  
_Yes, your door. Hurry up before I'm spotted._

Still none the wiser, I did as I was told and went to the front door. Sure enough, there stood Harry, looking around furtively before he slid past me quickly and shut the door for me.

"Uh... Not to be rude, but what the fuck?" My knees started to shake, and while I enjoyed any opportunity to see him, this was too much.

"You said you were alone, and I couldn't let that happen." Smiling his knee buckling grin, he kissed me. I let him until I came to my senses and my hand went to his chest, lips pulling from his. "Nobody saw me, Layla. I promise."

"You don't know that!" I exclaimed, rushing to close the living room curtains. "There are a lot of nosey, old biddies on this street who love to twitch their net curtains."

I was panicking; had Harry really gone too far this time? There was legitimately no way of explaining why he was here if Will came home. They weren't friendly enough that Harry would pop round unannounced, and as far as I was aware, Will was working on the One Direction set. If they needed to talk, our house was not the first port of call!

Harry chewed his lip nervously, realising his mistake and looking worried. "I'm sorry; do you want me to go?"

Now, that was a question. Did I want him to go? Golf Harry was gone, and he was back to being casual, every day Harry, clad in his signature black skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones tee with a green beanie on his head. He smelt so good, and it triggered so much need for him that I lost all sense and shook my head.

"You can stay. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

Shrugging, he looked down at the floor. "Our conversation about how it's getting difficult to see you two together – it was on my mind. It's been on my mind all afternoon. I didn't expect that seeing him touch you – to see him kiss you – would be so... hard."

It had been on my mind, too – though I didn't admit it – and it made me worried for both of us. He'd been jealous to see me act like the wife I was while I was jealous to see him flirt with someone of his own age and league. Despite our attempts, there had never been anything casual about us and what was becoming a fully-fledged affair, so it didn't really surprise me that he was already starting to struggle seeing me with my husband. Our relationship had shifted since we spent the whole night together. I felt that as soon as we'd exchanged hellos at the golf club, but I didn't realise until this second how much that shift was affecting Harry.

"Is it worrying you?" I asked. "Like I said earlier, we can end this whenever you want, before anyone gets hurt."

Harry exhaled, placing his car keys in the back pocket of his jeans and shrugging. "I just wanted to... I dunno, thinking about it made me want to make sure you're okay?"

There was more. The way he hesitated and stumbled on his words gave away that he wasn't saying what he'd originally come here to say. I didn't know whether it was because of worry or a change of heart, but I wasn't going to push him for more. His display of jealousy was enough to get me thinking that our affair would probably need to end soon before it got messy.

"I'm fine, Harry, honestly," I smiled, extending my hand to take his in mine.

Pulling me hard against him, he kissed me with a passion and depth that made me giddy, trying his best to prove that he still knew our relationship was based on purely sexual connection. Very quickly, I didn't even care if Will walked through the door – I'd just ask him to come back later once we were finished. I reached behind Harry and slid the chain lock into place so that if Will was to make an early return home, he wouldn't surprise us completely.

"I don't know when he'll be home," I whispered with a soft groan, head falling back as Harry's mouth made its way down my neck, teeth and tongue grazing as it travelled south.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?" Harry asked, voice vibrating against my tingling skin. "I can go if you want me to."

"I want you to stay." His lips were back on mine, and I pressed my body as close as I could to him, not wanting to let him go. My hands went to the back of his head, fingers burying into his hair and sending his hat to the floor. "You can't do this ever again, Harry. I'm serious."

"Noted. Now, where's your bedroom?"

Harry's smirk was triumphant and mischievous, glad his naughty action was ending with him being rewarded instead of punished. Hoping that he'd actually listened to my reprimanding, I grabbed the front of his jeans, index finger hooking over the denim waistband, and headed upstairs with a giggling Harry in tow.

The house was over three levels and I took him to the very top, to one of rooms we hardly ever used unless we had a lot of guests. It was actually my favourite room in the house, which was the reason it was very rarely used. It was the first room I had decorated before Will allowed me to do the rest, and I felt proud to show Harry my happy place.

"Is this your bedroom?" He asked, looking around with curiosity, forgetting for a second why I'd brought him up here. I wondered what he was picturing, wondered if he was imagining Will and I tangled up in those sheets, husband and wife doing what they were meant to do.

"No. I couldn't do that," I grimaced and felt a seed of a doubt starting to grow. This was really wrong; if Will came home, all hell would break loose. "It's just a guest bedroom."

"It's lovely," he commented without prompting, a tinge of relief evident in his voice knowing he wasn't about to have sex with a woman in her marital bed.

"Thank you."

Turning away from him to close the door, I contemplated locking it. The chain was already on the front door, so unless Will rang me, there was no way he was getting in, but I couldn't get the picture of being in throes of pleasure with Harry, and Will bursting into the room out of my head. Just that image alone should have made me bring the whole situation to a screeching halt, but instead, I turned the key in the door and took a deep breath.

"Layla?"

Harry was already sat on the edge of the vintage brass bed, breathtakingly beautiful surrounded by the thick, white bedding, an angel on a goose feather cloud. He pulled his t-shirt up over his head and unbuttoned his jeans, a smile appearing on his lips that made him look a lot less angelic.

Unbuttoning my cotton night shirt and letting it fall to the stripped floorboards, I walked to him, his hands settling on my hips as soon as I was in reach. His green eyes wandered across my body, naked apart from my pyjama shorts, before he looked up at me. I felt dazzled when he breathed, "You're so beautiful, and right now, you're perfect."

Harry stood up and kissed me, hands placed on my neck before they slid down my chest to caress my nipples. He giggled when I gasped into his mouth, but it was replaced by a protesting groan when I moved away from him. I pulled the bed covers back as he pressed his half naked body against my back, kissing my neck and tugging at the waistband of my shorts until they fell to my feet.

I crawled onto the bed, swaying my behind as enticingly as I could until he was fully naked and positioned behind me. Expecting him to take me on all fours, I let out a squeal as he grabbed my hips and dragged me back, pulling my top half up so we were both kneeling. I turned my head towards him and our lips met, feeling like it had been an eternity and not seconds since our last kiss. One of his hands travelled over my stomach and down between my parted legs. He started to stroke me, fingers spreading the slick wetness he'd created over my bundle of nerves.

"I love how wet you get for me," Harry whispered, teeth nipping at my ear, causing me to yelp and grind my hips harder against his fingers. "Do you want me to make you come, hm?" Whimpering, I nodded quickly but he wanted more. "No, say it – say it so I can hear."

Despite wanting to scream and beg, the words left my mouth calm and measured while I looked him in the eye. "Harry, I want you to make me come. Please." I added for good measure.

Taking hold of my waist, Harry lifted me up and scooted forward, his cock teasing my wetness, dragging the head back and forth across my sex and making me shudder. I wiggled my ass in frustration until finally he lowered my weight onto him, his length slowly filling me up.

Harry's hand went back between my legs, rubbing and stroking my clit as his hips rocked back and forth. My cheeks flushed red with pleasure and the room was filled my moans of his name. His movements were slow and deliberate, his head hitting my g-spot with every thrust.

As always, I was lost in his touch. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against his chest and focused on how good every thrust felt. His mouth muttered words against my ear that sent further shockwaves to where his fingers were working, and I felt that familiar tingle that he awoke in me so easily start to stir.

"I'm so close," I gasped, my back arching and my head falling against Harry's shoulder, rolling so I could look up at him. "I'm so cl-"

My words were cut off by his lips crushing against mine, my whimpers muffled by his kiss. Every nerve in my body came to life as his fingers and hips sped up until I finally came undone around him.


	16. Sour Cherry

Harry left before Will got home, leaving me with time to shower, remake the bed, and essentially remove any trace of his presence. The guilt of cheating on Will was beginning to set in, which brought along with it the doubts of my relationship with Harry. We'd discussed not being so careless only that very day, when I'd not so explicitly asked him not to put us in dangerous situations. He'd ignored that almost instantly, proving how stupid I was for getting involved with someone so young. Harry was a good guy, we had a lot of fun together, and I liked him a lot, but he was reckless and impulsive after I'd asked him not to be. And I didn't know if I liked him enough to risk it all.

Hearing Will arrive home just after 10 o'clock, I went downstairs, the guilt manifesting itself in an urge to care for him, to be the good wife I knew I most certainly was not. It was odd that after being with Harry and being a terrible wife, I always felt compelled to overcompensate and create some odd sort of balance.

"How was your evening?"

Will jumped at the sound of my voice, looking at me like a deer caught in a headlight. He turned his back to me and locked the front door. "I thought you'd be asleep by now. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was up. I thought you might want some tea? Have you eaten?"

"I grabbed something earlier. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep," Will yawned, dropping his leather shoulder bag to the floor, landing right next to something that made my heart jump into my mouth – Harry's green hat. My stomach dropped and panic mode set in; I fought the instinct to dive across the floor and grab it because I knew that would cause more harm than good. All I could do was pray Will didn't see it, too.

"How was your evening?" Voice shrill and palms sweaty, I walked closer to my husband, loitering in the hallway like he was scared to come further into the house. "What were you doing again? I'm sorry – I forgot."

"We had some problems with the lighting. The rigs we had made for –" I stopped listening, but continued nodding and furrowing my brow as if I understood his description of the problem, all whilst using my bare foot to sweep the offensive, green hat away from Will's bag and underneath the bench where our coats hung. "We've been using the company for years, and this is the first time there's a cock up, so Terry's letting it slide, but it's going to cost us a lot to redo." Will sighed before smiling. "I'm sorry – I know it's all really boring."

"Of course it's not!" I lied, relieved the hat was out of sight and I hadn't been rumbled.

"I need a shower, and then bed. Are you coming back up?" He stripped off his grey t-shirt, revealing his pale but toned physique, skin a blank canvas in stark contrast to the ink scattered randomly across Harry's body. Only a few months earlier – the first time I'd compared him to the man who'd end up becoming my lover – I'd noticed he was being hit by an early-onset, middle-aged spread, but that was gone now. Will had been working out and eating healthier, and for the first time, I could see the difference.

"I'm gonna stay up for a little, have some tea, and then I might sleep in the spare room if that's alright. Save me waking you when I come to bed."

"You do what you want, darling." Moving toward me, he stopped abruptly, as if remembering something. "Actually, I would kiss you goodnight, but I'm all sweaty from climbing the stage."

"It's fine – goodnight," I smiled, slightly relieved because I could still smell Harry's aftershave despite my shower, and even though I knew it was just the scent lingering in my nostrils, I didn't want to risk that my husband would smell another man on me.

Will bid me goodnight, then disappeared up the stairs. I waited until I heard the bedroom door shut before I moved, grabbing the offending object like it might grow legs and running upstairs on my tiptoes, praying that Will didn't suddenly appear. If I hadn't been feeling doubtful about the affair earlier, I definitely felt it now.

Reaching the top floor, my phone buzzed against my leg in the pocket of my cotton dressing gown. Taking it out, I saw Harry's number.

 **Stella**  
_Did I leave my hat at yours?_

 **Layla**  
_Yes you did. W nearly saw it. THIS is exactly why you can't just show up at my house whenever you feel like it!_

Not waiting for a reply, I stuffed both the hat and my phone in my pocket and headed to bed, pissed off, stressed, and contemplating the situation I'd gotten myself into.

**•**

Same hotel, same room, but a very different mood. I was shaking with rage, having already worked myself up into a stage of fury over the past week, so when Harry opened the door, it was like the anger spewed from me at the sight of him.

"What did I say about coming to my home? About putting me in risky situations?" Walking into the hotel room, I shoved Harry's hat against his chest, forcing him to take it. The smile he'd greeted me with fell so hard, I almost heard it hit the floor. "I asked you nicely not to keep doing it!"

Harry's green, woollen hat had sent my anxiety through the roof, feeling like there was a bomb in my house waiting to explode. I'd gone to sleep that night – in the bed that still smelled like Harry – relatively calm, considering how close I'd come to being exposed to my husband. I refused to reply to Harry's messages asking if I was okay, asking what happened, and even ignored his phone call. I needed to sleep, so I would deal with him in the morning. But I'd woken up a few hours later, dripping with sweat, Harry's beanie clamped in my right hand. I'd dreamt that we were trying to meet, making arrangements to be alone, but we'd always be interrupted or questioned, until I'd finally kissed him anyway. Harry pulled away with a look of disgust on his face as he frantically glanced around, yelling that I was sick and I was never to touch him again; ashamed that he'd been seen kissing me in public.

I woke feeling sick to my stomach, and that state hadn't really left me all week. So I'd continued to ignore his messages other than to say I'd still meet him.

"Do you know what would have happened had Will found this? Do you, Harry?"

Stunned by my anger, Harry stared at me before finally spluttering, "He wouldn't have known it was mine."

I blinked at him and felt my soul leave my body, replaced with some sort of red mist. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard, and I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid for investing so much in a... a teenager! He didn't understand – it was pure and simple. Harry didn't understand how much I stood to lose if Will even suspected something was going on.

"Oh! So that's how this works, does it?" Tears of frustration springing to my eyes, I simply wiped them away and continued on with my tirade. "It doesn't matter if he finds out I'm having an affair, as long as he doesn't know it's with you? Cause he'd know that hat wasn't mine, and it definitely isn't his!"

"That's not what I meant, baby, you know that," Harry held out his hands to calm me, but the voice that I normally found so soothing – the one I could listen to for hours – now made me see red.

"I know what you meant," I spat, folding my arms across my chest. "Honestly, I'm stupid for getting involved with you in the first place."

Harry laughed, shaking his head with amusement and throwing his hands in the air. "Y'know what? Whatever, Layla. Whatever you need to tell yourself to make yourself feel better. Go ahead and pretend this meant nothing."

"Fuck you, Harry. Fuck. You." This time, I laughed, amazed that I'd put my marriage at risk for this absolute child who'd fooled me into thinking he was an adult. "We're done. Don't call me – don't pull some stupid stunt so we're in the same place. I'm not interested."

Realising I was serious, the smile once again faded and his face became impassive. He shrugged at me. "If that's what you want, then fine by me. You know where the door is."

We looked at each other in silence. There was a split second where we both were uncertain if me leaving was a good idea. I was regretting letting him become so important to me, but he was. He'd become someone I enjoyed being around, and in my social circles, that was rare. The moment, however, passed, and we both came to our senses, knowing it probably was best to call this whole thing off before it could end any worse.

"Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Lil."

Giving him one last look, I headed for the door and left the hotel room with the intention of never seeing him again. 

In the back of the taxi, I cried quietly, soaking the sleeve of my jacket with tears. I'd had break-ups before – ones where I'd felt the world was ending, ones where I'd played sad songs while drowning my tears in various types of alcohol. This felt worse. The anger wasn't gone. I was still furious that Harry had been so stupid – so selfish – but I was also angry that I'd overreacted because of my paranoia. Because of a hat Will might not have even noticed. (And to be quite honest, he probably wouldn't have thought enough about it to care even if he had noticed!)

Closing my eyes and resting my head against the cool leather seat, I pictured going back to the hotel. Harry would be leaving, waiting for the lift to arrive, when I'd reach his floor. He'd be stunned to see me at first, but then he'd grab my hand, and we'd race down the hallway back to his room, where we'd make up and he'd be genuine when he promised to be more careful.

But I didn't go back. I went home, called Rose, and plotted an escape for the both of us. Her birthday was days away, and I needed to forget the mess I'd gotten myself out of and leave it all behind.

"Hey! I was going to ring you in a bit," Rose answered the phone cheerfully. "How did things go with Boy Wonder? Did you ram the hat down his throat like I suggested?"

"Fancy going to Ibiza tomorrow?" Cutting to the chase, I ignored her question. "It's not really a question, by the way. I've already booked everything and I know you've got time off for your birthday."

The line went quiet, and I had this sinking feeling she'd say no, but her cheerful tone got a lot happier as she replied. "Sure! Why the fuck not?"

"Good answer! I'll pick you up in an hour. Last-minute holiday shopping awaits!"


	17. Loneliness

 

"While I'm not complaining about an impromptu holiday – especially for my dreaded 30th birthday – but why exactly are we going?" Rose questioned for the tenth time as she wound the window of the taxi headed to the airport. She'd straightened her auburn curls so her hair whipped around her head like she was a fiery Medusa, and the way she stared at me, begging for an answer, only furthered that image.

Taking a deep breath, I realised that if I told her the reason for our quick getaway now, there was a better chance of us enjoying the rest of our holiday without her interrogating me the entire time. "Harry and I are done for good, so I need to not be in London for a little while. I need some sun, cocktails, and some fun with my best friend."

"Ah, I see." I could see she wanted to ask more, but we both knew now was not the time or place – her inquisition would be better suited for when we reached our private villa and we had some fruity cocktails to sip on while lounging by the pool. "Well, by the end of the week, it'll be 'Harry who?'"

Flashing a grin at me, Rose wiggled her eyebrows and leaned in close so we could take a photo together.

The rest of the drive was silent, allowing my thoughts to turn to Harry. It had only been a day, but I oddly missed him more than I ever imagined I would. Not being able to message him or have the naughty, late-night texting sessions which had become part of our post meet-up routine left me feeling a little empty. There was some guilt about my overreaction, but I didn't regret ending the affair. I had a loving husband who took care of me and treated me well most of the time; I really had no reason to look elsewhere, even for fantastic sex.

The villa was owned by Terry's family. Positioned up in the mountains with breathtaking sea views from the balcony and the infinity pool, we were still only a twenty-minute walk into town for drinks and food. In reality, it was much too big for just Rose and me, but it was perfectly located for our needs, and we had the run of the place, so it was ten times better than staying in the sort of grotty apartments we'd lived in back in our holiday rep days.

Terry had made sure the place was fully stocked with everything we needed, so as soon as we put our cases in our bedrooms, Rose and I changed into bikinis then headed to the kitchen to whip up some cocktails and something to line our stomachs. As we made food, I filled her in on what had happened between Harry and me – from the golfing, to his forgetting his hat, and finally to my deserved overreaction and eventual ending of the affair.

"So do you really think it's done?" my friend asked thoughtfully, slathering sun-cream on her pale skin. "Or do you think you need to just calm down a little?"

Sucking at my straw and half-emptying the glass of its wicked, blue concoction, I noted that she didn't disagree that I was overreacting. She'd called him an idiot for leaving his hat behind, but faulted me for letting him into the house. She also didn't say that I was right in throwing my massive tantrum over a hat that Will probably wouldn't have noticed.

I'd been so angry in the days leading up to seeing him, determined that I was going to tell him to stick his hat where the sun doesn't shine. Now that it was over, I realised that Will wouldn't have noticed the hat, and had he spotted it, I could have just told him it belonged to Rose. However, that only proved to me further that I'd done the right thing, even if I had done it the wrong way. I was so wrapped up in guilt and lies that logic didn't seem to matter!

"I think I might have calmed down and given him a final warning if he hadn't laughed in my face for being so angry. He didn't care, Rose – he just didn't understand how stupid he'd been by turning up to the house." Stretching my legs out in the hot sun, I sighed and wiggled my toes, the nails a neon pink that were going to be perfect when I got my tan. "At the end of the day, it was fun. We had fun, and he's a good guy, but it needed to end before one of us got hurt or before anyone found out."

Laying back in her lounger and setting her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, Rose relaxed and sighed. "You're right – it did need to end. I'm glad you had fun though – that much, I could see."

"I did. I sort of forgot I could feel the way he made me feel, so it was worth it just for that."

Feeling stress evaporate in the heat, I thought about the good times Harry and I had shared – lots of orgasms, laughter, and a surprising amount of in-depth conversations. Even though I'd planned on never seeing him again, I began to hope that we could at least be civil when we were in a room together. Maybe the interest he showed me was part of his seduction, but I did truly believe we connected a little. Then again, I wondered how many other women felt that with him.

 

After a few days of swimming, drinking, and spilling my thoughts to Rose, I felt decidedly better. Lighter, even. I didn't miss Harry half as much as I thought I would, and even felt an odd relief that I no longer had a constant worry on my shoulders. Though I missed the attention and flirting (there was no one to admire my poolside bikini selfies), I was enjoying my time on a beautiful island with my best friend.

Ibiza was the place where she and I had met. I'd already worked for the company as a holiday rep for a year, so I trained her up and we quickly became best friends. We lived together, we worked together, and more often than not, we played together too. My shaky upbringing meant I'd never knowingly met a lesbian before – which she found hilarious – but my naivety didn't upset or offend her. I was fascinated and a little intimidated by her at first. She was funny, smart, confident, and absolutely beautiful! She also swore like a sailor, took no shit from the guests, and especially knew how to deal with the lads who tried to tell her that she 'just hasn't met the right bloke, love.' She'd look them up and down, a smile on her angelic face, as she reached for the collar of their Burberry cheque shirt and pulled them close.

'And I still haven't,' she'd say. 'I wouldn't fuck you even if I was straight. Say that to me again and I'll have you back on a plane to England quicker than you can say 'she's seen clits bigger than my dick', right?'

I'd watch in awe, ready to jump in if it turned ugly, as the guy would stumble back, hugely embarrassed, the redness on his face hidden by his terrible sunburn. Throwing his shoulders back, he'd wink at her, and that would be the end of it. He'd spend the rest of his time on his absolute best behaviour.

Rose was everything I wasn't but wanted to be – she was feisty, fearless, without worries, and always up for a laugh. She'd always be talking to her family, and when she realised I had no family, I was rung personally by her mother, Carol, and told that I'd be coming home with Rose for Christmas – no arguments. Out of politeness and worry they'd hate me, I tried to get out of going, but Rose all but packed my suitcase for me. When we arrived in London, the Fullertons welcomed me like one of their own. I was quickly adopted into their family – their big, dysfunctional, silly, and loving family.

With this in mind, the eternal gratitude that she and her family took in a waif and stray like me into their home and hearts, I was determined that Rose was going to have an amazing birthday. I always planned something special for her birthday, and being reminded of how our friendship began, that seemed even more important.

After spending the day at a beach party, we went home to get ready for the evening and then went to dinner at a restaurant that we both loved, which also happened to be where Will took me on our first date. I'd bought her a huge badge with a lighted 30 on it, and she let it flash away as we ate our food and giggled over the amount of times we'd left there drunk when we'd only meant to have a quiet meal.

After we managed to keep ourselves relatively sober during dinner, we walked with our elbows linked from the restaurant to our first bar. I felt... light. Like I was 19 or 20 again. Like all we both had to worry about was paying our bills and not being too hungover for work in the morning. Will, Harry, Will's mother – they were all a problem for future Layla to deal with because the present Layla was too busy having fun.

"A toast!" Rose shouted over the cheesy pop music, holding aloft an enormous glass of vodka and Coke so I could clink my own oversized drink against it. "To us! Thank you for a wonderful birthday as always. No matter what, we'll always have this bar and our times here together!"

"To us!" I agreed before drinking half the contents of my glass, then shuddering from the amount of alcohol to mixer Rose had poured.

"Too strong?" she grinned as I nodded. "Good!"

We sat and table danced to our favourite songs, singing loudly and out of tune whilst pointing at each other as we always did. My heart swelled with love for my best friend, eternally grateful for her presence in my life. I could only imagine that we'd continue coming back to Ibiza until we were well into our 70s, dancing to music we didn't understand while simultaneously downing shots and complaining about the heartburn said shots gave us.

Quickly, dancing at the table was not enough – we needed to pull some serious shapes but we had to wait for the right song. The opening bars of 'What Makes You Beautiful' filled the club, and there were screams aplenty as almost every girl in the room leapt up and ran to the dance floor. Rose and I looked at each other, both unsure how to react until she grabbed my hand and leapt off her stool and dragged me to dance with everyone else.

Neither of us really knew the words, but we sang anyway, continuing with our pointing at each other in a drunken serenade until the only voice singing was Harry's. A sadness I'd been ignoring washed over me. The music was so loud that Harry's voice, the familiar rasp that he also spoke with, vibrated through me, and all that lightness I'd felt disappeared and I felt heavy again – heavy with loss for someone I really didn't know at all.

"I think I miss him," I leaned over to Rose, the song picking back up again but failing to take me with it. "I know it's stupid, but I do."

"No! No you don't! The vodka and your vagina miss him!" she yelled back, grabbing my hands to try make me move. "I have an idea. Come on, we're going!"

Collecting our things, we left the club and the sound of One Direction behind as we headed to wherever it was Rose was leading me.


	18. Another Chance

The headache woke me up, along with the stinging pain on my skin. Slowly opening one eye, I saw I had managed to make it to my own bed and even managed to undress myself other than my knickers and the fading glow sticks wrapped around my wrists. I lay staring at the glass of water on the nightstand, willing myself to move so I could take a drink, but all I could focus on was the tight ache on the right side of my ribs.

I retraced the night, from leaving the bar upset because of hearing a One Direction song – and not in the way most felt upset hearing their songs – then being dragged to somewhere else, somewhere bright and clinical.

Like a boot to the face, I remembered and leapt out of bed, rushing over to the full length mirror to confirm the memories of Rose telling me to do something crazy. There, on my side just above my waist, was a beautifully detailed anchor wrapped in budding blossoms. It was still covered in clingfilm, surgical tape holding it in place, so it wasn't until I peeled it off that I screamed.

"ROSE! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU LET ME DO?!"

Rose was on the sofa, head in hand as she stared down at the underside of her right forearm.

"Stop shouting!" she hissed, wincing at the sound of her own voice. "I branded myself too, don't worry. A peacock feather? Where the fuck did I come up with that bright idea from? We weren't even that drunk!"

"Will is going to lose his mind. We must have been drunk enough if you talked me into this." I turned and pointed at the new permanent fixture on my back. "Did we just point at a picture in a book and say 'that one?'"

Rose shook her head, the hand on her forehead moving to stifle her giggles at my choice. "Oh no! You had a valid reason for your artwork. You said you wanted something that'll 'keep you grounded', something to remind you of what you have so you're not tempted by..." she waved her fingers, not needing to mention my own personal Voldemort, "...in the future."

Gingerly sitting down, it all came back: the tattoo artist with bright pink hair asking if I was sure I wanted to have something so big. Most drunken Ibiza tattoos were small and of something stupid like Tweety Pie, but I was adamant that I wanted an anchor. Rose was right; we hadn't been that drunk at all – that had come after. We'd been in the studio for a while, owned by a girl Rose had dated years ago after I'd left Ibiza to marry Will, and I also remembered that she'd joined us for our post-tattoo partying.

"I'll come to make sure you guys don't hurt yourselves," she'd grinned, eyes locked with Rose's, which definitely meant 'I'm coming out to make sure we hook up later'.

After that, I just had occasional glimpses of memories from the night before: downing shots as Ibiza classics bumped around us, flashes of bright colour from enticing clubs, haunting tastes of apple sours, and Rose with her tongue down the pink-haired girl's throat as I danced with a Scottish hen party.

"Wait... Did, uh, what's-her-name come home with us?" I whispered, looking in the direction of the bedrooms, desperately trying to remember if there was a third person in the taxi home. Or did we even take a taxi home?

"Zeta, and she already left." Rose's smile was sheepish and had a definite hint of naughtiness. She shrugged her shoulders. "It was my birthday!"

"Hey! I am not here to judge." I reached for my bag, pulled out my phone, and spotted the cream Zeta had given us to help heal our tattoos. I held it up to Rose, "rub this in for me, and I'll make us breakfast."

She kept her end of the bargain and I kept mine. As I cooked us both bacon sandwiches in hope it would cure the banging in my head, I wondered what I was going to tell Will. He hated the tattoo I already had – a small, rarely seen date on my inner wrist which was usually covered with my watch – but as I'd gotten it before we'd met, he couldn't really complain. This was something else; it was bigger and not so easy to hide from him. He was going to be furious. Nerves and apprehension set in as I remembered how my husband hadn't exactly been thrilled to come home and find me throwing swimwear, suntan lotion, and party outfits into a suitcase, his face turning an angry, beet-red when I told him my plans.

"We're meant to be having dinner with my mother on Sunday. She's not going to be happy when I tell her you've swanned off on holiday." He'd whined, folding his arms across his chest, the expression I nicknamed 'The Bitter Lemon' making an appearance when I didn't even pause my packing.

"Your mother will be angry with me? How ever will I cope?" I'd replied, the anger from my interactions with Harry still coursing through my veins making me forget who I was talking to. "Pray tell, when is your mother ever not angry or annoyed by me?"

"Layla." The warning in Will's voice did make me pause, recalling I could only test him so much. My anger was with Harry, not with the man I was married to, so I'd sighed and tried to appeal to his kinder side, certain it was still buried somewhere in his soul.

"I'm sorry, but it's Rose's birthday next week and you've barely been home. I didn't think you'd mind if I went away for a little." Walking over to him, I'd placed my hands on his chest and kissed his lips, ignoring the little voice that pointed out how much nicer it felt to kiss Harry. "You know Verity won't miss me; she'll be glad to have you all to herself."

He'd stayed still for a moment, body cold and unrelenting in his annoyance, until finally he'd put his hands on my waist and nodded. "Fine, but I'm not driving you to the airport."

Kissing him again, I'd hugged him tightly, then went back to packing, surprised by how easy it had been to make him see my side. That would never happen again. He would now always remind me of how irresponsible I could be, that I couldn't be trusted.

I started to wonder what Harry would think. He'd once asked me about the date on my wrist as he'd ran his thumb over it while we lay in bed. I told him it was the date my mother died but I didn't elaborate. He didn't question it further, just quietly apologized for my loss and went along when I changed the subject, his thumb still stroking that same spot. His skin was littered with tattoos – some that meant something and some that didn't – so I knew he wouldn't be upset like Will would be. With the way my skin stung, I found myself wanting him to help ease the pain, knowing that he knew how to handle it.

It dawned on me that I'd agreed to the tattoo as a way of replacing the dull ache of ending my brief affair with an actual physical pain of a needle drilling into my skin at rapid speed. Last night, a tattoo had felt like a great idea, something impulsive to show myself that I could do crazy things that didn't involve sleeping with another man. But now, I knew that I'd always just see it as the end of something which was already leaving a lasting impression on me; I'd always remember this time because it was etched on my skin forever.

Despite my blues over breakfast, the hangover making everything seem a million times worse, the holiday was exactly what I needed. Rose was, as ever, the perfect person to get me out of the doldrums and make me focus on the good. I was dreading telling Will about my tattoo and I fully expected the silent treatment for a few weeks, but he'd eventually get over it. At least, I hoped he did.

**•**

I could hear raised voices just as I was about to put my key in the door, but the shouting stopped when I turned the lock and pushed it open.

"Hello?" Will called out, appearing through the wide arch from the living room into the hallway.

"It's me! Can you help with my cases?" I greeted him, wary as to who he was arguing so loudly with. "Oh, Terry, hello!"

Terry's face was red and furious, twisted with scorn. His normally relaxed manner was gone and he almost vibrated with rage. I'd never seen him angry, and it terrified me even though I was not on the receiving end. Will was usually the one who'd fly off the handle until his business partner would pat his shoulder and tell him there was nothing that couldn't be fixed. Clearing his throat and forcing a smile, Terry attempted to welcome me with his usual warmth.

"Hello, my dear, did you have a good time away? Everything alright with the villa?" He watched Will kiss my cheek as he walked past to help carry in my suitcases. "Your husband said you wouldn't be back until later."

"It was lovely, thank you – just what the doctor ordered! The villa is just as we left it. We left the keys with the neighbour as instructed. We were meant to be later, but Rose has to work tonight, so we got an earlier flight." Turning to Will I felt guilt for interrupting whatever had been going on, feeling the tension thick in the air. "I tried to ring you, but there was no answer."

"Yeah, uh, sorry," Will stammered, not looking me in the eye. "My phone was, uh, off."

"Is everything ok?" I looked to both of them, but mainly at Terry, hoping he would be honest. "I don't think I've ever seen you two argue."

"Yes! Of course, dear! Just some work problems but they're all sorted," Terry walked over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. His smile was genuine this time, and I felt the warmth and love emanate from him, reassuring me that their argument wasn't too serious. "In fact, I was going to suggest that your loving husband should take you out for dinner to welcome you home from the heavenly white isle. I'll even book you my favourite table at The Ivy."

He turned his head to Will, this time his voice less warm. "Take your gorgeous wife out, spend some time with her." Will didn't reply, but Terry's satisfied smile was enough to inform me that he'd agreed. "Excellent! In that case, I'll leave you two to catch up and I'll see you both soon."

With a kiss on my cheek and a final glare in Will's direction, he left, leaving us both in a silence that was equal parts confused and stunned. I didn't really want to go to dinner with Will, and I had a feeling he didn't really want to go to dinner with me either. Turning to face him, his expression confirmed that; he looked like he was about to walk the green mile, not go for a meal with his wife who he hadn't seen for a week.

"What's going on?" I asked, knowing full well I wouldn't get an answer. "What were you arguing about? Is everything alright?"

"It's none of your business. Just go get ready so we can go to this damn dinner!" Will snapped nastily before adding, "the prick will find out if we don't go."

Walking away, he headed to his office and slammed the door behind him, leaving me speechless and dreading the dinner I had no choice but to attend.


	19. Performance

Will's mood improved dramatically by the time we arrived at the restaurant, inquiring about my holiday and suggesting that next year we could get a group of our old friends to visit as a sort of reunion holiday.

"Get the gang of '04 back together," he enthused. "Plus you and Rose! It'll be great fun to meet up after ten years."

Like Rose, Will and I met during my time in Ibiza, but he had been a guest instead of a colleague. I was 20 and he was 21, in his last year of university, and walked with this air about him that emanated that he didn't have to work hard for anything. Will thought he was God's gift and I didn't buy it, which only made me more appealing in his mind – cliché, but the truth.

We ordered drinks and I marvelled at the change in my husband as he reminisced about the summer we met, speaking as if it was the best time of his life. He showed a glimpse of the man I married, and I felt hopeful that cutting ties with Harry was the right thing to do. Reaching to take my hand, Will lowered his voice and eyed me flirtatiously.

"I remember the first time I saw you. You were with Rose, wearing that tight blue polo shirt and those tiny little white shorts, and I knew I was going to have you," he grinned, adding, "I wanted Rose, too, but that plan went out the window once I realised she played for the other team."

He laughed at his attempt at a joke and I did, too, but I was left uncomfortable being reminded of his attraction for my best friend, a fact he brought up too often, to both mine and Rose's mortification.

"I thought you were an idiot!" Changing the subject, I pulled my hand away and looked around eagerly for the waiter to hurry up with the wine I ordered. I'd consumed a lot of alcohol while I was away, and I had planned not to drink for a few weeks, but I knew full well that I would need something to get me through this meal. "You and your uni friends walked around the resort like you owned it, not realising that Henry's uncle did, indeed, own it."

"That's why we were staying there! We had originally planned to go to Zante for the summer until Henry casually mentioned his family owning a hotel in the hottest part of Ibiza," Will rolled his eyes and snorted slightly with laughter, sounding like the stereotypical posh boy. "He was ribbed for quite a while about that one."

"Well it's lucky he did mention it, or we wouldn't have met."

Will nodded at my statement, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled widely.

The waiter returned with our drinks and collected our orders, with Will ordering for both of us (steak for him; salad for me). I hadn't quite built up the courage to tell him that, sometimes, he could order me the unhealthy option, so I politely congratulated him on his choice and began sipping at my drink.

Excusing myself to the bathroom, I left him to check his phone. We had a 'no phones at the dinner table' policy on our rare date nights, but we were both guilty of checking for messages when the other went to the toilet.

The restaurant was warm and the skin on my back stung from my dress clinging to where my slowly healing skin had reached the uncomfortable stage of itchiness. Pulling the top half down and reaching my hand behind me awkwardly, I knew the only thing to remedy the irritation was to apply the cream Zeta had given me. I had considered just biting the bullet and just telling Will what I'd done, but his mood swing deterred me from doing so. I had no wish to ruin the evening by upsetting him again, so I'd wait until his mood was better and for the scabs to heal.

I spotted Harry as soon as I walked out of the ladies' room. He was dressed all in black, hair swept back, face animated as he laughed with his friends. Had it not been for the whole evening being set up by Terry (and for the fact that that Will was focused on his mobile instead of schmoozing), I would have thought the evening was just another set up by Harry. With a knot in my stomach, I walked past him, his voice sending shockwaves to my stomach as he ordered his drink then continued his conversation with a female friend. Reaching a safe distance, I thanked all the gods that he didn't see me.

Sitting back down, I decided to not mention that Harry was here until Will did; if Will knew Harry was here, he would insist on going over to say hello which I had no interest in doing. I was more than happy to pretend I hadn't seen him and hope that I could make it through the meal without having to play the part of good little housewife who's charming with the clients.

Will was silent for a few minutes while he continued to text, his forehead lined with a frown, then put his phone away and once again launched into more memories about us meeting and his time with his university friends.

"We should go back to that beach we went to our – what was it – third date? Recreate the whole thing." Will's eyes twinkled with suggestion and I felt myself blush. I could see him thinking it was from the memory, but in reality, his suggestive tone and the last person I had sex with being merely tables apart had me feeling suddenly flushed.

The date he took me on was magical, something out of a movie, and the sort of thing a girl like me who'd grown up in the roughest part of Liverpool could only have ever dreamed of at the time. A private beach owned by Henry's uncle, AKA my boss's boss's boss, a romantic dinner lit by the full moon and festoons of lights which shone softly overhead. I'd been unsure of him until that night, wary of his intentions, but he'd spent the day setting everything up with his friends, and in my innocence, I'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

We'd made love for the first time in the sand, my suggestion of skinny dipping leading no further than the surf. We giggled when it became apparent that it wasn't like it looked in the movies, but when we left the beach I'd taken him to my apartment and he didn't leave until two days later.

I was dazzled by his effort to woo me. The boys I'd dated before that had just about stretched to a bowl of paella and a cheap bottle of wine, so Will to me was like a knight in shining armour and Prince Charming all rolled into one. He was what I'd dreamt of growing up, the person to come take me away from the life I was living; rich, handsome, funny, and ambitious.

Tapping the table with an excited determination, my husband pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded. "Yes! I definitely think a reunion is in order next year! I'll message Henry and the other boys tomorrow and you can start planning as you do that sort of thing quite well." His smile was beaming as picked up his cutlery and began to carve into his steak tartare, "Although, you probably won't be able to fit into those white shorts anymore!"

"Will!" My fork fell into the wide-brimmed bowl with a clatter, and I instantly lost my appetite.

"I'm joking, Layla!" Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Will continued to eat while I stared at my food. I felt heat and shame rise to my cheeks as I realised the irony that I was worried it was me who would ruin the evening.

Noticing my silence, he looked up from his plate and asked derisively, "Are you actually going to sulk like a child over a joke?"

"Of course not," I tried, forcing myself to smile. Shaking my head and taking a bite, I felt my salad turn to mulch in my mouth, and I couldn't hold back the stinging embarrassment which brought tears to my eyes.

The night was tainted and ruined, and remembering that Harry was near was the cherry on top. I cried quietly against the back of my hand, feeling fat and horrible until Will called over our waiter and asked for the bill.

"Well done," Will hissed, throwing his napkin onto the table and draining his glass with a scowl. "You've just spoiled this whole evening because you can't take a goddamn joke. I should have told Terry to piss off when he said I should take you to dinner."

My skinny days had been behind me for a long time, but despite my self-consciousness the first couple of times with Harry and the occasional bad day, I was perfectly happy with my curvaceous figure. I didn't do fad diets, I ate healthily (for the most part), but exercise outside of the marathon sessions I shared with my 19 year old lover was not my friend and I was okay with that! Will's comment, however, set a thought process that had me wondering if the reason our marriage was awful was because he hated the way I looked – that he was secretly disgusted when he caught glimpses of me naked.

Normally, I would never have made a scene, but I was emotional from travelling, and I couldn't stop the thoughts that if Will was turned off then, maybe, Harry had been, too.

My husband was mortified. As far as he was concerned, this was my fault. Glaring at me while he paid, he spoke to me coldly as he rose from his chair and ignored how upset he had made me.

"I'm going to the bathroom, then we are leaving," he snarled, leaning over to me. "Try and at least stop your blubbering by the time I get back."

I watched him walk towards the gents', wiping my tears which were quickly replaced by new ones. As Harry's eyes met mine, he frowned when he saw I was crying and scraped his chair back loudly with such a force it almost went falling back, causing his friends to shout and holler at him. There was nothing I wanted more than to feel him hold me, to tell me how much he wanted me, but it couldn't happen here – it couldn't happen at all. I didn't want Harry to be my saviour – I'd thought that about Will and here I was, crying in public. He was a good kid but that's what he was – a kid.

As I attempted to ease my tears, I shook my head at him curtly and mouthed 'no.' He stood where he was, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, he sat back down slowly, but he wouldn't look away, worried eyes fixed on me as if willing me to let him come over. His friends looked at him confused then looked to me with curiosity, so I turned away and looked down at my hands, the wedding ring on my finger feeling like a tight weight that I wanted to rip off and throw as far away as possible.

"Come on, let's go." Will appeared at my side, taking hold of my elbow so I'd stand up. "I hope you know I am so embarrassed."

"I'm s-sorry," I tried, the words leaving my mouth in a hiccup.

Tears welled in my eyes once more, but I stubbornly refused to let them fall. I grabbed my bag, gave Harry one last look over my shoulder, and left with a furious Will.


	20. Need You Tonight

I walked past security and into the hotel with my head down and my breath held. There were fans and photographers waiting to get a glimpse of the guests inside, and I could feel them eyeing me with curiosity as they wondered who I was and how I'd been invited.

One Direction were the subjects of a documentary, charting their success and providing fans with a behind the scenes look of the boys they loved. Will, Terry, Mia and I had been invited to attend the premiere, and while I'd managed to avoid the main event itself, I had promised them I would make it to the after party. Of course, I would have found an excuse to not go at all had Harry not broken his silence and pleaded with me to attend. I was reluctant to go, to get tangled in that mess again, but seeing him at the restaurant the week before had made me miss him terribly. Not to mention the shame Will had made me feel over dinner had me yearning for Harry even more, even if it was just for one night and in a room full of people.

I decided to try the hotel bar first, suspecting that Will would probably be schmoozing with guests in hopes of bagging some new clients. Looking around, I didn't see Will, but as I turned to walk back out, I clocked Harry standing with a girl of his own age. Their conversation was very animated, and they kept touching each other as they got excited and spoke over each other before laughing loudly.

He looked out of this world handsome with his hair swept back, tight black jeans, sleek black jacket, and black shirt patterned with large, white hearts. Harry was glowing with happiness, and I wondered if that was from the day's events or because of the girl he was speaking to. I watched them for a minute, standing quietly by the entrance and feeling the bittersweet sting that comes from watching someone you like be happy in a way they'd never been with you. It hurt to see him smile so widely, laugh so genuinely, and touch her shoulder so fondly, but the pain was better than the numbness I'd felt since my dinner with Will, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

He soon became aware of someone watching him, looked up, and caught my curious gaze. He didn't react for a second, like he couldn't believe that it was me he was seeing, but I turned on my heel and walked out before I could see his eventual reaction.

Now, I was torn. Will didn't know I'd arrived, so I could easily walk out of the hotel and pretend the event I'd attended had run late – something I'd been tempted to do up until I'd got out of the taxi five minutes ago – or I could just find him and stay a little before making my excuses. There were a few people milling around outside a room with music filtering out, and I guessed that was where Will, Mia, and Terry were.

"Lil." Harry appeared ahead of me through a second archway which led into the bar. He looked around, and smiled when he saw me. "You came!"

He was in my personal space within seconds, smelling as good as he looked. I had to remind myself that there were people around, that Will, too, could appear at any second.

"I'm looking for Will; have you seen him?" I asked coolly, trying with all my might not to act on how much I wanted to burrow into his inevitable warmth.

"No, I haven't seen him," Harry replied.

We stared at one another for a few moments, saying nothing, but neither of us wanted to walk away just yet. Suddenly, I lunged forward and threw my arms around his neck, almost crying with relief when I felt him hug me back.

"I have a room – 909," he whispered quickly, knowing we couldn't stay so close for long. "Please come upstairs so we can talk."

We pulled back and he was grinning at me, but it was for show. To anyone who was watching, he looked like somebody who was excited about the movie and the party; he'd been hugging everyone all day, and I was no exception. My lunge was just the act of someone who'd been so focused on finding their husband, that they forgot to congratulate and greet the host. Innocent, or at least we hoped it looked that way.

Harry reached into his back pocket and subtly placed a key card into my hand, eyes imploring as he did so. I looked down at the small, white key in my palm and then back up at him, his fixed grin faltering as he wondered if I was about to hand it back to him.

"Five minutes. That's all you're getting."

I gave my own fake smile and touched his arm as though I was saying goodbye. Choreographing my actions and hoping they looked natural, I walked around him, pulled out my phone as though I'd received a message and headed for the lift like the imaginary text told me to do.

My heels noisily echoed around the room as I walked across the wooden floor to sit on the edge of the modern four poster bed. I looked at Harry, once again taking in how perfect he looked leant against the door. We'd been in the room a whole minute and neither one of us had said a word, obviously not taking my five minute time limit seriously.

"Are you ok?" Harry finally spoke. "I've been so worried about you."

"I'm fine." Smiling like I didn't know what he was talking about, I shrugged and crossed my legs.

"Why were you crying? In the restaurant. Did Will do something?" The words tumbled from his mouth, like they'd been on the tip of his tongue since it had happened. He'd been holding them back for a fortnight and despite the now-awkward tension in the room, he looked relieved to have gotten the questions out.

"Listen, I'd rather not discuss my marriage with you, Harry," I sighed and looked down at my hands, the gold wedding band once again acting as a stark reminder that I shouldn't stay any longer than I needed to. "I was tired and emotional after my holiday, that's all."

He wasn't buying it, and I wondered for the first time why he was so sure Will had upset me – why he was so certain that Will would even be capable of making me cry. Harry, I realised (and kicked myself for not realising it sooner), had obviously seen or heard something that made it clear to him that Will was not going to be winning any 'Husband of the Year' awards any time soon. It suddenly made much more sense why he showed no guilt for our affair.

"Did he hurt you?" While his voice was quiet, his question broke my train of thought.

I took him in, looking past the public image and the confident exterior, and saw that Harry was scared. He was scared I'd say yes, and he was scared of how he'd deal with that information.

"No, he didn't," I answered, deciding to stay quiet about the tender spots on my upper arm where Will had grabbed me. That wasn't intentional, and while my husband would occasionally mentally and emotionally batter me, he'd yet to physically hurt me.

The incident in the restaurant had left me shaken, and I could see it had done the same to Harry, too. Wanting to make him feel better, I patted the bed and he came over to sit beside me.

"I am ok, y'know?" I leant against his arm and watched him fiddle with the rings on his fingers. "I'm sorry you've been worried."

Harry turned his head to look at me, and I knew him well enough that I knew what he was thinking of doing, his gaze breaking the eye contact as it dropped to look at my mouth. He stared at my lips, and I waited to see if he'd make his move, to see how I'd react. But, instead of kissing me, he took me by surprise and exhaled loudly before flopping back onto the bed. With his shirt having broken free of his jeans giving a tantalising glimpse of the V-cut of his hips, my thoughts were clouded by the desire to run my teeth along them.

"I'm so tired," he muttered quietly as he placed a hand on my back, fingers stroking dangerously close to my still healing tattoo, and I prepared to leap up if he touched it. It had gone past the point of pain, but I was paranoid about anyone catching it unintentionally, and I didn't really want to tell Harry about my heartbreak Ibiza tattoo just yet, if ever.

Aware that time was slipping past and I should leave, I turned carefully to look at him, his body stretched out, his eyes closed and his hand now on my outer thigh. The conversation we needed to have was done, and it was getting harder to not reciprocate his tactile manner, so I needed to leave quickly before I did something stupid.

I was wondering if I was going to have to wake Harry up when he mumbled, "I guess we should get back to the party. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, which you are."

"Which I am."

As I stood and prepared to leave, Harry sat up quickly and grabbed hold of my wrist. Meeting no resistance, he turned me around and perched on the end of the bed. Pulling me to him and trapping my legs gently between his knees, he looked up at me with wide eyes.

"Layla, I miss being with you."

I exhaled loudly.

Tilting my head back to look up at the ceiling, I willed myself to be strong and not fall for Harry's words as much as I wanted to. He kissed the back of my hand, lips plump and wet against my knuckles.

"You look so good, and I want you so badly." His free hand went to the back of my knee, fingers splayed against my skin. The heat from his palm was burning me. His hand strayed its way up the back of thigh and under my skirt until it reached my behind. As his fingers stroked along the seam of my silky underwear, I felt my resolve start to slip out of my grasp.

"Please look at me." His voice was a hoarse whisper, but I did as he asked. Our eyes met and he asked the question I knew the answer to, but was loathed to give. "Do you want me, too?"

Reaching up to bring my face closer to his, the hem of my dress riding up at the back as I bent over, I came face to face with him properly for the first time in over a month. His breath, warm mint mixed with the scent of alcohol, brushed my face and I lost all strength to walk away.

"I miss you, too," I whispered back.

The sentence barely left my lips before Harry silenced me with a kiss that I'd been dreaming about for too long. His kiss was hard and desperate. He kissed me like he expected me to stop him at any second, as if he was making his case why I shouldn't. He gripped at my ass and pulled me down onto his knee, humming with pleasure when I straddled him.

"I can't stay for long – I really have to find Will," I gasped between kisses, moving with Harry as he lay back down, his hips grinding up against my heat. He was hard already, cock swelling in his tight jeans as he rubbed himself against me.

"Just a little longer," he groaned, eyes heavy with lust. "Then we'll go back, I promise."

Kissing Harry felt so natural, our movements so in sync that I could have laid there for hours letting our tongues express how much we'd missed each other. His fingers dug into my ass, grip tight as he moved my hips and controlled my pace. I shuddered each time the fly of his jeans dragged against my clit through my underwear, the feeling so delicious I thought I was going to pass out, and Harry would chuckle softly until his laughter was swallowed by his own groan.

Feeling like a teenager – and ignoring that my partner was still actually a teenager – our dry humping was just about satisfying a major need. What began as lazy friction quickly became hot and frantic. As I rocked back and forth, I plucked two of the buttons on his shirt so I could place my hands on his bare chest and kiss his collarbone.

The sound of my phone beeping through the fog brought my attention back to reality and how quickly time was passing. I sat up and looked down at Harry; his mouth was puffy and red, his styled hair now pointed this way and that, while his shirt was pulled apart exposing his torso.

"Why you stop?" he breathed, reaching up to pull me back down, still in a daze.

"We have to get back; people will be wondering where you are," I whimpered while he tried to tempt me, rocking his hips to rub himself against my pussy, knowing I was close to the point of no return. "Fuck! Harry..."

"Yes," he grinned, trying to pull me back down again, "please fuck Harry."

With a kind of strength and willpower I never knew I had, I managed to climb off his legs and stand up, albeit with wobbly knees. Harry groaned loudly, hand reaching down to touch his cock over his jeans, now spotted with faint damp patches.

"Layla! You're killing me!"

I laughed to hide that I had killed myself by refusing his advances, and picked up my bag to check my phone in case the messages had been from Will. I'd told him I would definitely be coming to the event, so I wouldn't have been surprised to find a long, angry message telling me I'd better get there soon or there'd be trouble. To my huge relief, the text was just from Rose, sending me a much too late reminder not to get involved with Harry again.

"You know what?" I turned back to face Harry who was palming his erection through his jeans as he stared at me intensely. Dropping my bag back onto the dressing table, I walked back over to the bed, lifted my dress and dropped my panties to the floor. I ignored the smug smirk on his face as I moved to straddle him. "What's another ten minutes?"


	21. Special Affair

We got into opposite sides of the lift, facing each other with excited grins, basking in our last moments alone. I don't know what possessed me to have us both take the lift together, but I was on such a high from our quickie that I convinced myself it was fine.

"I'll let you know when we can meet next," Harry spoke as soon as the doors closed. "I want to spend the night with you, maybe two, if that's okay?"

"I'll see what I can do. A different place though? That one has been... tainted."

"Okay," he nodded in agreement. "You find a hotel and I'll sort it out."

"No silliness this time, Harry. Please," I asked, reiterating what I'd said in the room minutes before. "I – we – can't risk anyone finding out."

"I promise, Lil." He was serious when he spoke, a hand raising to sit on his heart. "I'll play by your rules."

I turned to look up at the numbers on the little screen and watched it count down as we neared the ground floor. Harry cleared is throat, and when I looked at him he spoke.

"The girl I was talking to, in the bar, that's my friend Alice." I nodded and realised he'd thought I was jealous when I walked out after seeing them talk. He wasn't entirely wrong, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I'd forgotten about it. "We've known each other all our lives. I'd like you to meet her."

"That would be nice. Maybe once I've found Will."

Before I got to ask if he'd told her about us, the lift came to a stop and the doors dinged before sliding open. Harry held his arm out for me to go first, so I stepped forward and heard him mutter as I walked out into the foyer.

"I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave."

Turning to look at him over my shoulder, Harry grinned at me and gave a wink before we headed in different directions – him back to the bar and me to find my husband. 

The party was in full swing when I walked into the main room, but Will, Mia, and Terry were nowhere to be seen. I didn't know anyone other than Harry, so I messaged Will to ask where he was, grabbed a drink, and found a table tucked away in the corner to watch everyone dance and have a good time. When Harry walked in, he hugged everyone and laughed his genuine nose-wrinkling laugh. He looked happy, and I liked watching him at his most comfortable with the people he loved.

However, it wasn't long until he sauntered over, drinks in hand and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

"Thought you might like a drink," he smiled, placing a glass next the one I already had and sitting down. "Still no sign of Will?"

"Thank you, and no." We clinked glasses and both took a sip. "I've messaged him but no answer. Have you seen any of them?"

"I saw them earlier, but not since we came back. You should come meet my family," Harry leaned across the arm of the seat to talk to me properly. He looked over to the people he'd been with, then back to me. "I feel shit that you're on your own."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Harry, but I'm fine though. Thank you." Mirroring his movement, I leaned closer to him, too, and wished I could put my hand on his thigh. "Listen, I spend most parties I attend with Will on my own. I'm well-practiced in entertaining myself. At least I have a nice view at this party."

Harry's frown became a grin, and he groaned. "I do have to say, all I can think about is bending you over this table," with the fingertips he had used to unravel me with upstairs, he touched the table in front of us, "and burying my face between your thighs."

My eyes widened at his words and the casualness in his voice; he spoke as though he'd just informed me he'd had cereal for breakfast.

"Well... that sounds..." The throbbing ache I felt had me momentarily speechless – we'd only just had sex, but I wanted him again. "My thighs?"

"Yours. Definitely yours." Taking a sip of a drink, he tilted his head to look at me with hazy eyes then asked with a smirk, "Is that okay?"

I nodded and smiled politely, the room suddenly feeling very warm. "I'm okay with that."

Harry opened his mouth to speak again but a woman with brunette hair appeared at his side. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leant down to speak in his ear. I watched with an odd feeling of jealousy when Harry turned to look at who was behind him, his face breaking into a bright, somewhat-guilty grin. This woman was gorgeous, even if she was older than I was, and he looked at her in awe.

"Sorry to interrupt, love, but Gemma wants a photo of us in the photo booth."

Harry's face lit up as he twisted in his chair, he grabbed hold of her hand and made her sit down. "Mum! I want you to meet Layla! Layla, this is my mum, Anne."

Jealousy was rapidly replaced with horror that the woman opposite me was in fact Harry's mother, the woman who raised him to be the person I was mesmerised by. Anne's smile faltered when she looked at me, and I knew that he had told her who I was.

"It's nice to meet you." My voice shook and my smile was forced. I didn't know whether to shake her hand, stand up and hug her, or stay where I was. Her cold manner gave me my answer, so I stayed put, unable to move now even if I wanted to.

"And you, too." Anne looked at Harry and I could see the concern as clear as day. He had told her about me, and he had told her about my husband.

As if to remind us what was so uncomfortable about this particular meeting, my phone lit up on the table and Will's name signified the arrival of a message. Unlocking the screen, I hoped he was about to give me the opportunity to escape this moment, a rare moment where it was Will rescuing me from Harry and not the other way around.

**Will**   
_We left. Didn't think you were going to bother turning up. I'm having drinks back at Terry's, don't wait up._

"He left without you?" Staying true to habit, Harry read over my shoulder and even over the music of the party, I could hear his fury.

I stuffed the phone into my bag and avoided eye contact with Harry and his mother, my face burning with humiliation. I wished that he hadn't seen what Will had sent, and I certainly wished he hadn't announced out loud that my husband had buggered off without me. I'd just about managed to convince Harry that things were fine, that the incident at the restaurant was a one off but this had undone that completely.

"I'll leave you both to it." Anne suddenly rose up from her seat and rubbed Harry's arm lovingly. "Don't be long, son."

We watched in silence as Anne walked away, both wishing that that meeting had gone a lot better than it had. It already felt like karma was doing its thing to me for letting Harry back into my life, and the lyrics to John Lennon's 'Instant Karma' slowly floated past my vision.

"You told your mother?" Speaking finally, I thought I would be angry, but instead I felt sad that his mum very obviously felt a huge amount of dislike for me.

"I needed someone to talk to when we fell out, and I trust her more than anyone." He stroked my knee under the table, and looked at me earnestly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I get it." Too tired to argue, I finished my drink and exhaled loudly. "Well, I guess I'd better go, and leave you to enjoy your party."

Harry leaned forward, making sure his face was in my view and I could see how much he was holding back his anger. I saw clearly then that Harry had never liked Will, and he certainly didn't like him at this moment.

"I'd like it if you stayed." His hand squeezed my leg tightly, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around me, making me feel for a short time like everything was alright. "I know you can't stay if he isn't here, but I wish you could."

Placing the hand I wished I could touch his face with on his shoulder, I forced a smile and once again tried to make him believe that everything was fine. I knew he wouldn't buy it this time – he'd barely bought it upstairs – but I hated seeing the worry in his eyes, especially on a night that was supposed to be fun for him. Guilt struck then, guilt that I'd ruined his night, and I felt awful for bringing my drama to his world when all we were meant to be doing was having fun and satisfying a lust.

"You should enjoy your night, and I'll let you know about a hotel." I said, faking brightness. "I'm used to Will doing this sort of thing."

Harry nodded wordlessly and got to his feet, though I could sense from the way his jaw was tensed, there was plenty he wanted to say. "Come on, I'll walk you to the door and get you a car."

"I'll grab a taxi outside, it's fine."

"No arguments."

We weaved our way through the other guests on the outskirts of the room, his hand resting on my lower back, guiding me through until we were out in the hotel lobby. There were people milling around in the softly lit, modern surrounding, on their phones where it was quieter, or in pairs having quiet conversations. Harry went to the reception desk and asked for them to call a car, while I leant against the wall and messaged Will to tell him I was on my way home; he read it, but didn't reply.

"They said it'll be five minutes. I'll wait with you." Harry walked back over, his brow furrowed as he fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. Out in the bright light of the foyer, we couldn't touch each other, and it was a struggle for both of us. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Thank you. You don't have to wait, I'll be fine." He narrowed his eyes and I clamped my mouth shut, knowing there was little point in trying to make him leave until my car arrived. "I hope the rest of your evening is fun. I'm sorry if I ruined it."

Harry shook his head. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm pissed off at Will for you, but you only made my day better. I'm happy you came... literally."

The bad mood broke and we both giggled naughtily. Taking a risk, I stretched out my arms and signalled for him to hug me. He needed no convincing, and quickly closed the gap between us, arms circling my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. I felt the brief moment of peace I needed. Safe in his embrace, Will's idiocy felt insignificant and the embarrassment faded.

"Don't forget to find a hotel and we'll work out dates, okay?" Harry's voice was a sleepy mumble in my ear, the tiredness from upstairs reappearing as we soaked up each other's warmth. "I can't wait to spend some proper time with you."

"I'll look tomorrow." Reluctantly pulling away from him, I whispered, "I wish I could kiss you."

Harry hummed in agreement, and blinked slowly. "Me, too."

Watching his lips push out into a tempting pout, the urge to kiss him became almost unbearable. When my name was called by a suited gentleman stood by the large revolving doors, I felt relief that I wouldn't get the opportunity to give in to temptation. I answered that I'd be with him in a second then turned back to Harry, feeling a tightening in my chest over having to leave him.

"I'll see you soon."

We hugged again, tighter this time, then as I went to move away he pressed his lips to my cheek before moving his kiss to the corner of my mouth. He lingered there for a few seconds then stepped back, running a hand through his hair as he smiled.

"See you soon, Lil."


	22. Lyin' Eyes

After a lot of research and worrying over what sort of place Harry would like, I found a hotel close to the Thames that was out-of-this-world beautiful. He had always chosen a suite, and this one had plenty of them to choose from so I sent the hotel link to him and he simply replied,

**Stella**   
_Two nights. Make sure you're free_

My stomach fizzed at the idea of spending two whole nights with him; we'd managed a whole night once or twice, but it usually involved one of us leaving early. I was slightly worried that he would wear me out, or we'd get bored after the first night and run out of things to say or do. I guessed there were worse things to worry about, like what I was going to tell Will. I had almost asked Rose for an alibi if Will rang looking for me, but because he was away on a business trip with Terry, I would hopefully be the last thing on his mind as he wined and dined prospective suppliers.

I had decided not to tell Rose about my rendezvous with Harry; she was understanding, supportive, and didn't judge me, but she also had my best interests in mind, and knew how catastrophic it would be if Will ever found out. I appreciated her looking out for me, and knew if the shoe was on the other foot, I'd be as concerned and trying desperately to make her see sense, but I just didn't want to hear it. Sense was the last thing on my mind when it came to Harry, with reality coming a close second to last.

My stubbornness and determination to get my kicks with Harry was helped by the fact Will and I didn't really speak for the first week after the premiere incident. That night, I'd gone home to a dark and empty house, and he was nowhere to be seen. My calls and messages went ignored, so I went to bed, sent a text to Harry to let him know that I was home safe, then went to sleep.

The sound of the bedroom door being opened roughly woke me up, I sat and blearily watched as Will stomped into the room noisily with little regard for my slumber. His focus was on his performance – he wanted to make sure I knew he wasn't talking to me, that he was pissed off with me for his mistake. I made no effort to convince him to talk to me, just watched as he roughly pulled drawers open then slammed them shut again, disappeared into the walk in closet, then made sure to slam it closed when he came back out dressed for work. Confident he'd hammered the point home, Will left the bedroom with a huff. A few minutes later, I heard the front door close with a rattling bang.

He didn't come home at his usual time, and it was only because I contacted Mia and Terry to see if they knew where he was that I found out he was sleeping in Terry's spare room. When he return home after a few days, he remained mute and I felt like I was living with a dark, dark cloud.

Then suddenly, his mood passed, and instead of spending my sixth wedding anniversary binge-watching Dexter on my own in bed while my husband was God-knows-where like I was expecting, I was taken out to dinner where he apologised for his behaviour. Of course, the apology wasn't so clear cut and I was made to feel like his mistake was my fault. Rather than argue my case and run the risk of extending the silent treatment, I bit my tongue and let it slide.

So we made up and enjoyed our meal, then went home and had the obligatory anniversary sex that was the polar opposite to the kind I'd been having with Harry. There was no passion, no urgency to explore every inch of each other's bodies and, in my case, no orgasm. It was routine – every move Will made was predictable, and even when I attempted to change things up a little to try and get some pleasure for myself, it just threw him off so I decided it was best to do nothing and let him get on with it.

His thumb jabbed and rubbed over my clit, not quite bringing it to life so much as confuse it, and he would stop occasionally just to check if I was wet enough. When he decided there was sufficient lubricant, he then pushed his way into me with some difficulty. I made all the right noises while Will did his thing. It wasn't entirely unpleasant and picturing Harry helped, but there was an unspoken feeling of relief for both of us once he'd finished. There was no attraction between us anymore, and until the conversation about children came up, I had no intention of fulfilling my wifely duty again any time soon.

Afterwards, Will went to sleep, beautifully fulfilling the male stereotype of being asleep moments after orgasm, but I lay staring up at the ceiling and felt guilt start to gnaw at me. For some reason, it felt like having sex with my own husband was a betrayal and that I had just cheated on Harry. I had to grip tightly at the bed covers just to stop myself for calling him and confessing my sins.

We'd never discussed if either of us were sleeping with other people. I imagined Harry was getting it all over the place, and I'm sure Harry assumed that Will and I had a healthy sex life. I was on birth control, and we used condoms so it didn't need to be discussed, but because my marital bed saw very little action I hadn't considered what it would feel like when I did have sex with Will. I didn't expect to feel guilty, and the only reason I managed to finally fall asleep was by reminding myself that Harry was probably having sex with other women and more than likely felt no guilt or regard for me.

**•**

Harry had taken care of booking the room, but at the last minute informed me he would be running a little late. He promised that he would be as quick as possible; however, since I was already in the taxi en route, I had no choice but to collect the keys and check in for us. I thought about maybe just sitting in the bar until he arrived, but I didn't fancy drinking in a hotel bar on my own, and I didn't want to run the risk of running into someone who knew me or worse, Will or his mother.

My heart raced as I approached the beautiful, model-like receptionist who I was convinced could see the huge 'I'm Here For Casual Sex With My Pop Star Lover' neon sign I felt was flashing over my head. Instead of exposing me as some cheating lush, she was lovely and helpful, understanding completely that Harry was late and that I would be dealing with things until he arrived. As far as she was concerned, I was just one of his team – maybe even the person who booked the room to begin with. I certainly didn't look like the sort of woman Harry Styles would be spending two days holed up with.

I was shown to the room then left alone to wait for Harry, relieved now that he wasn't here as I wandered around the place repeatedly muttering 'Fuck!' at the opulence of the suite he had chosen. It was double the size of the apartment Rose and I shared with two other girls when we worked in Ibiza, and it was definitely better decorated. Soft grey and blues painted the walls, and plush velvets and satins covered the furniture and bed. The room was elegant and I almost felt guilty for using it as the venue for my sordid affair.

I put my overnight bag in the bedroom, unpacked a few things I didn't want to get creased, then went back into the living room. Admiring the view over the river Thames, it crossed my mind that I should greet Harry in the new lacy underwear set I had on under my clothes, but before I had the chance, I heard a knock on the door. My heart sped up and it took me everything not to sprint to fling it open and pounce on Harry before he could say 'hello'. Instead, I walked calmly, taking measured steps down the hallway to the door.

He, as always, looked phenomenal in his black jeans, simple white tee and long black coat. He was carrying a hold-all and sunglasses in one hand and a large bouquet of flowers in the other.

"Hello, you," I greeted him coyly, realising that he was becoming truly familiar to me and I was growing comfortable in his presence, even though my heart leapt and my stomach swirled at the mere mention of his name.

"Hello to you, too," he walked into the suite and looked around. "Very nice! I'm impressed; you have good taste, Mrs. French."

Turning away, I shut the door and hid the mixed emotions that I felt being called me Mrs. French: one being highly aroused and the other, guilt that I was back to cheating on my husband.

"Didn't you look at the w–" The words were cut off as I turned back around. Harry dropped his bag and flowers to the floor, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me hard against his body so he could kiss me. It took a second to catch up, but I welcomed his advances, sliding my tongue between his lips and wrapping my arms around his neck. He reached up to grab my wrists, pushed them back down and spun me around. "–ebsite?" I muttered, dizzied by Harry's naught-to-sixty behaviour, and from going around in a circle.

"No," he whispered, pressing himself against my back and brushing my hair aside. Kissing my neck, his hand travelled around my waist to pull me even closer to him. He then tugged my blouse free from my skirt before concentrating on unbuttoning it so he could slide his hand under and cup my breasts. "I trusted you."

"Uh... Hello to you, too," I moaned as his fingers teased a nipple over the thin lace of my bra. It hardened instantly under his touch, making him groan a little with delight that he had such an effect on my body.

"We've already said hello." Harry's breath was hot on my skin, the husk in his voice low and hungry. I felt a burst of arousal shoot down between my legs at the very idea of the things his tone promised.

There had been some trepidation on my part over what we would fill our time with, doubting that we could have sex the entire time, but in his presence, I was looking forward to the next sexual experience before we'd even really started the first.

"Guess I'm not here to chat," I said turning back to face him and pressing my lips against his.

"We can talk later," Harry replied, unbuttoning my top completely and sliding it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "I've been thinking of you nonstop since the premiere." My skirt came off next, and once again, I was in a hotel room with Harry, stood in nothing but my underwear and heels. I should have just answered the door naked like I'd planned and saved us both the time.

"I've been thinking of you, too." Kissing deeply, our tongues swirled wildly together, breaths heavy with desire.

As Harry held my body tight against his, I could feel the already rock-hard erection against my leg, still trapped in his jeans. I ran my free hand over it, delicately tracing the outline with my fingertips, and was rewarded with a satisfied groan from him against my lips. Undoing the button on his jeans, I slid down the zip and pulled his cock free from its confinement. He was panting, hips jutting forward as I stroked the solid length in my hand, smooth and veiny at the same time.

"Careful," he chuckled breathlessly, eyes closed. I could see him try to control his arousal as best as he could, "or I'm going to shoot my load into your hand."

Tightening my grip around him, I smirked at the whimper that slipped from his mouth and asked innocently, "already?"

"Lil, I've just spent eight hours on a plane thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you. I'm surprised I didn't come when you opened the door." I giggled and looked up at him with disappointment when he moved my hand away. "That feels so fucking good, but I really,  _really_ , need to taste you."

Harry dropped to his knees, grinned up at me, then pulled me down onto the floor.


	23. Wearing Nothing

Harry kissed my neck, biting and sucking just enough to not leave any long term visible marks, while his hands unfastened my bra. He pulled one of the cups down to expose my breast and wrapped his lips around my nipple, causing me to gasp as he swirled his tongue around it.

Running his tongue down my torso and over my soft and plump stomach, I held my breath and prayed for good lighting. He stopped once he reached the waistband of my underwear, his mouth leaving my skin while I tingled beneath his fingertips as I felt him sliding my panties down over my thighs, then removing them completely.

Groaning, he looked down at me from his kneeling position and sent a fresh wave of excitement straight to my groin as he muttered to himself, "Oh yes, that's much better."

I was glad that Harry didn't tease me; he spread my legs, lay down on his front, and put his mouth straight onto my aching pussy. His tongue parted my moist lips and circled my clit, flicking at it rhythmically.

My hips rolled against his mouth, the need for him to give me a release becoming so overwhelming that I felt giddy. I had denied myself any orgasms in the weeks since plans were set for our meeting, so every move he made was torture as he teased and played; tongue slowing its pace before speeding up and sending me closer to the edge.

"Faster," I whimpered, realising he was enjoying taking his sweet time, but needing him to give me a quick release before he began to tease. "Please, Harry."

Harry placed his forearm across my hips to keep them from moving as best as he could, my lower half essentially pinned to the floor by his weight. I let out a pained whine, trying to move against his tongue to no avail. I lifted my head to look at him and our eyes met; with his mouth clamped around me and his unseen tongue slowly swirling around my core, I could see his amusement at my frustration and that only made everything so much worse. This is what he'd been thinking of on his flight home, teasing and playing with me until I was almost mad with lust. Harry was enjoying every second, and that was clear when, with our eyes still locked, his licks became focused, the tip of his tongue pointing short, rapid, hard flicks at my clit.

My eyes widened and my mouth opened, but no sound came out. Our gaze was broken as my head dropped back down onto the floor with a light thud and my chest went hurtling up in the direction of the ceiling.

"Sweet... fucking..." the staggered words came out in a gasp. I was close. So close.

Then he slowed his pace again, and my back fell against the carpet, body already broken by his teasing. For someone who had joked about not being touched in case he came too quick, Harry was apparently in no rush to get to his end, and that seemed to mean I had to wait, too.

He went back to his slow, dragging licks, taking his time, and enjoying my moans and soft pleas to make me come. In my haze, I felt fingers tease my entrance, the tips dipping inside just enough gather a fresh slick of wetness. Cold air hit when Harry's mouth left me and the fingers slid through my folds and brushed my swollen hub with a maddening circular motion.

"You taste so good," Harry muttered, kissing my thigh and watching as I struggled again to move against the arm which still lay across my hips. "I'm tempted to do this all day."

I whined loudly and held my breath when Harry slowly – painfully slowly – buried his fingers into me; one finger, and then a second. His mouth on me was hungrier now, his tongue lapping and pushing me closer to coming undone. I could feel the tips of his digits press against my sweet spot, and I knew that when I came, it would damn near destroy me.

"Harry, I'm going to..."

I was breathless, my cheeks flushed, my muscles already aching from clenching tightly around him. He gave a small laugh which I felt vibrate against my nerve endings, and I arched my back to press my entire lower body down onto Harry's fingers. He began to slide them in and out, using them to fuck me and take me closer and closer to my undoing.

"Come for me, Lil." It was a simple request, but as he continued to eat me hungrily, his muffled words were enough to send me over the sweetest edge.

My hand flew to my mouth as Harry brought me to an orgasm that was so intense my whole body convulsed; I worried, as always seemed to be the case with him, that my cries would be heard through the entire building, or even out on the street. All the denial I had inflicted on myself became worth it, pleasure hitting me tenfold after going so long without, and I was reminded how good Harry could make me feel.

Once the sensitivity became too great, my hand shot down to tug at his curls and pull him away. He ignored it at first, seemingly enjoying the hair-pulling, but my begs to stop were then taken seriously and he sat up, pulled his fingers out of me slowly, and I watched as he sucked my juices off of them. Wiping his swollen, pink lips with a devilish grin and licking his fingers again, he closed his eyes and savoured the taste.

I leant up and grabbed at the lapel of his coat, which I only just realised he was still wearing, and pulled his weight on top of me. As we kissed, I could taste myself on his tongue as it darted into my mouth, emulating the way it had moved on my core moments earlier.

"I want you in me. Now," I panted, raising my hips to rub myself against his cock which hung between us.

Harry swore under his breath, grabbed hold of himself, and positioned his tip at my entrance. He buried his face in my neck, breathing already ragged and laboured against my throat, and slid into me slowly.

"You're so fucking tight," he growled in my ear, making me shiver and moan.

I wanted him to fuck me hard, to render me weak and incapable of moving, but Harry had other things in mind, drawing himself in and out with a maddeningly slow pace, enjoying the feeling of my walls around him. I squirmed and pleaded for him to speed up, but he ignored me as he sat up so he could watch himself disappear into me, breath catching when he was fully inside.

Suddenly, Harry pulled out altogether and I pushed my hips up with a pained emptiness. Flashing me a smug smile, he grabbed my sides and rolled me over onto my stomach before pulling me up onto all fours. Facing the door, I saw someone opposite me, cheeks flushed, hair puffed up, and body completely naked. Realising he had intentionally made me face the full length mirror next to the doorway, I fought the urge to mock him for being the typical vain pop star, wanting to watch himself fuck. But this wasn't the time, and I didn't entirely hate the idea myself.

In fact, I expected to be repulsed by my naked reflection in the mirror, but there was something about the raw sexuality in my appearance that was a turn on. My boobs looked surprisingly good, I still had my Ibiza tan, and I was thankful I'd sunbathed topless most days so there were very few tan lines on my body, and somehow my makeup was still in place! For a brief second, I didn't blame Harry for wanting me so badly – I looked almost as good as he did.

Harry locked his eyes with mine while he positioned himself behind me and roughly thrust back into me, that side smirk reappearing at the mewl I gave.

All my begging was repaid now. My arms fought to stay up against his rapid movement, and how good it felt as his cock rubbed against every part of my tightness. My moans were loud, but in the mirror I could see him watching me, eyes wide and focused, not worried in the slightest that anyone would hear. My entire body tingled; I was close to letting my upper body collapse against the floor, but Harry ran a hand gently up my back, twisted his fingers around strands of my hair, and yanked my head back.

"I want to watch you." His voice was soft, betraying his actions, his hips ramming hard against me. Gaze flickering from my face to my chest, he bit his lip and watched as my breasts swung freely with his rhythm. "Fuck! You look so good!"

Harry's face changed suddenly, his jaw clenching and his head falling back as his eyes squeezed shut. He let go of my hair, placed both hands on my hips, and pulled my body hard against him with a force I had no idea he possessed. I tightened my muscles as much as I could around his throbbing dick, the enjoyment of watching him lose control adding to my own pleasure.

"Come for me, Harry," I repeated his own words to him, and his eyes flew open at the sound of my voice.

"No," he breathed heavily, voice trembling, "I want you to come again." I knew he wouldn't last that long and there was nothing I wanted more than to watch him as he came inside me.

"Baby, please."

Urging him, he nodded sharply, then jerked forward to lay his forehead against my back, a hand reached up and grabbed my breast as he slammed into me one more time before he cried out. His body shuddered and I felt the vibrations of his cry run through me, his mouth open and slack with his hot breath on my skin. His movements were messier now, desperate to feel every drop of pleasure he could. He pushed his hips back and forth a few times more and I could hear the strain in his throat as he spilt a whole plane journey's fantasies into me.

For a little while, we stayed connected and still. Harry kept an arm around me, his thumb idly stroking my nipple, while we caught our breath and enjoyed the sensations coursing through our bodies. I knew that there were probably lovers who were more skillful, who lasted longer, or would give me an orgasm every time, but even as I propped myself up on all fours with Harry's weight on my back, I knew it would be very unlikely I'd ever feel this satisfied by anyone else. He laughed gently and I felt him stir.

"Next time, I'll just book us a hallway, seeing as we have trouble getting further than the door."

Collapsing heavily onto his back with a soft thud, Harry looked up at me with a dopey, satisfied grin on his face. Reaching for the coat I had missed him removing, I covered myself with it and lay next to him, sighing happily when he pulled me closer to him. I lay my head on his tattooed chest, listening to his heart as it returned to its regular rhythm, smiling as I remembered we had an abundance of time left together.

"So, that's that done," I teased, "now what're we going to do for the next two days?"

"Dunno, I was hoping to catch up on some sleep. I'm going Australia in a few days." Harry's hand slid along my arm and down my back to grab my behind, fingers dangerously close to where I was still sensitive and tingling, "I also have a book I wouldn't mind finishing."

"I was hoping you'd say that, I worried you wanted to have sex the entire time! Luckily, I brought along my sheep onesie and a book, and just left all the naughty lingerie at home." Biting my lip, I struggled not to giggle. "Is that okay?"

"Silk and lace?" Harry asked, quietly, his heart betraying him by thumping hard and fast in his chest.

"Yeah, I bought far too much! I might have to take it all back," I rolled onto my back, Harry's hand having no choice but to sit on my smooth pubic area. "I'm sure I still have the receipt somewhere."

I sat up suddenly, twisting to look at him flirtatiously. His cheeks were red and his hair was dishevelled and clammy. "In fact, I might go have a bath then get into my pyjamas."

"Your onesie?" Harry asked dubiously. I nodded a yes before standing up, leaving his coat on the floor. His green eyes wandered over my naked body and he cleared his throat, "Did you want me to run your bath?"

"It's okay, I can do it," I turned, walking away with a swing of my hips, "but you can pour the bubble bath if you'd like?"


	24. Melt

The bath was big enough to fit the both of us comfortably, I'd made sure of that when I'd looked on their website, I'd grown fond of our shared baths, so a decent sized tub was essential. He climbed in first and I followed to sit at the opposite end, tangling our limbs so my legs laid over his and his arms rested over mine. It was then that we took a breath and acknowledged finally that our time alone had arrived.

Staring at each other and biting back grins, Harry drew small circles on my knees with his thumbs and broke the silence.

"Happy to be here?"

"I suppose..." I grinned, still tingling from his handiwork in the hallway, feeling the most relaxed I had in weeks. "You?"

"I suppose." Smiling back, he ran wet hands through his hair and exhaled loudly, as though he, too, was relaxing for the first time in a while.

We stayed quiet for a little while, just holding hands under the water and enjoying not having to rush or cram our plans into a short visit. Harry closed his eyes, and lay his head back on the edge of the tub. I wondered if he was going to sleep, but instead he spoke.

"Did he say sorry for leaving you?"

Tension returned to my shoulders, and the reappearance of Will in my thoughts brought a knot in my stomach along with it. Harry remained reclined, and his eyes stayed closed so I had no choice but to give a reply other than to nod my head. Choosing to omit the part where my husband had slightly turned the incident into being my fault, I chose a simple answer. "Yes."

He lifted his head up and looked at me in disbelief, a small sneer on his face, "I didn't think he was capable of apologising for anything he does to you."

"Me either, but he did."

Wondering if Harry had always been so open with his dislike of Will and I'd been too stupid to notice, I pulled my hands from his and pressed them to my face. My cheeks were hot and I felt an odd sense of loyalty to Will, while also feeling guilt that after he'd apologised, we'd had sex. I was beginning to think rekindling our affair was a mistake when Harry sat up, reached for my wrists, and pulled them down so I looked at him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, pressing his lips against my palm and kissing it. "That was shitty. I'm really sorry. I just – I'm so pissed off that he did that to you."

Nodding, I curled my fingers so they touched his cheek and brushed the tips over his hot, wet skin. Harry leaned into my touch and hummed, his eyelids closing heavily as he seemed to let his anger for Will evaporate with the steam around us. I'd noticed signs of jealousy when we'd golfed – his jaw tensing and his face turning sullen when I was talking to my husband. It was also becoming apparent that the two men I'd thought were friends of sorts, were merely using each other to gain what they wanted: Will wanted the band's business, and Harry wanted me.

Noticing that I'd stopped stroking his face, Harry's eyes opened.

"Do you hate him?" I blurted out, the question leaving my mouth before my brain had processed it fully.

Harry shook his head straight away, a small frown on his forehead as he answered quietly. "No, I just hate the way he treats you, Lil. I don't have a say in the people we work with, but if I did, and if it didn't mean I might not see you anymore, then we'd be working with someone else."

My mouth dried, worried I'd be the cause of Terry and Will losing an important client. Things were fine for them, lots of happy customers and returning business, but they'd invested a lot of time and effort into this particular client, and if Will ever found out I was behind them going elsewhere, my life wouldn't be worth living. Seeing the worry on my face, Harry shifted through the water to move closer, tapping my protruding bottom lip with his thumb.

"I just barely manage to tell them what I want to wear. Don't look so worried. I'll suffer in silence, smile, and listen to his jokes. I'd never put you at risk. I meant what I said – no games." He broke into a wide, coy smile, like a schoolboy talking to his first crush. "I like meeting with you too much to do anything that could ruin it."

"I like meeting with you, too, Harry.  That's why I was angry." Sighing, I linked my fingers with his. Finding it difficult to look him in the eye, I focused on his nose. I didn't think it was possible to even find someone's nose attractive until I met him. "It was a good thing we stopped doing what we were doing, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be here with you."

"The last thing I want is for anyone to find out,  because it wouldn't be good for either of us; but I just wanted to see you, and the only way I could do that sometimes was with Will at your side." Harry looked at me with such earnest that had any anger still lingered over our falling out, it would have dissipated right there. "But I can't see you with him anymore, so I promise that won't knowingly happen again."

He was wise beyond his years in so many ways, but he was still only nineteen, learning that life was not always fun and games, and that having an affair with a married woman was not as fun as it seemed. Once again, I felt his jealousy as he muttered that he couldn't see me with Will anymore. With that, a new worry was added to my list: I didn't want Harry to get hurt and lose the light he seemed to have at all times.

My feelings for Harry definitely changed in that second. I wasn't just driven by lust for him now – I cared for him, and that was going to be my downfall, because from the look in Harry's eyes as we lay in the steamy water in silence, he felt exactly the same. Something had changed as we said goodbye in the hotel lobby after the premiere, a shift in the way we felt about each other, but I buried it deep down and hoped he would, too.

"Let's just agree that we should only see each other when it's planned." I broke the silence, the moment becoming too intense and feeling that Harry's gaze was seeing far too much of what I was feeling.

"That sounds like a very good plan, but we don't need to think about that just yet." Gesturing for me to sit up, he leant forward and cupped my jaw, pulling me closer as he kissed me. "For now, we just have to worry about what we're going to do for the next two nights."

Harry breathed, giving a small moan as I tugged lightly at his bottom lip with my teeth.

I pulled away and smiled innocently. "As I said, I do have my book."

"Layla."

"Harry?"

"Layla, you are not going to be needing that book." The deathly serious look he gave made my stomach lurch. "We'll barely have time to eat..." he grinned suggestively and leaned in to whisper against my lips, "...food, that is."

My eyes widened at the thought, my own moan escaping until it was muffled by a lazy, wet kiss. Could I handle Harry's apparently insatiable appetite? We had a lot of catching up to do and having him all to myself was something I was definitely happy about, but I was also aware that by the time we said goodbye in two days' time, I would be a stone lighter and with the early stages of a six pack.

I lay back down in the wide basin of the tub and Harry pushed my legs apart easily. We both giggled as he slipped and shifted awkwardly to manoeuvre himself until he was on his knees, leaning over me, one hand on the edge of the bath behind my head and the other heading down between us. Pressing his forehead against mine, he watched my reaction to his fingers, circling and teasing my clit but not quite touching it, grinning with an evil joy when I whined for him not to be mean.

"I love it when you get like that," he whispered, as I felt the tip of his cock at my entrance. "You're so reserved all the time but I tease you and the mask slips a little."

Before I could deny wearing any kind of mask, he pushed his way inside of me, the water washing away my wetness and making his entrance harder but no less delicious. I wrapped my legs up around his waist so he could go deeper, wanting every inch he had to give to fill me completely, and held my breath until we were fully connected.

"Ohh, Harry!" I sighed before his lips crushed to mine, his free hand now grabbing at my breast, kneading and pinching until my nipple was painfully hard under his fingertips.

Water splashed around us as our bodies moved, tiny waves moving in the same rhythm, spilling over the sides and down onto the black floor tiles.

Still sensitive from earlier, my G-spot was quick to reawaken. It wasn't long before I was clinging to Harry, begging him to fuck me harder until – with a loud profanity that echoed through the room – I came. Harry, on the other hand, was still going strong, and despite my tightening around him, he carried on, a blissful smile on his face.

"You're going to come again," he panted against my neck, teeth grazing my skin hard enough I knew there would be a mark. I shook my head in disagreement, mouth incapable of making words. "Yes, you are."

I slipped a hand between us and began to stroke my hub, rubbing it and playing with it the way I knew would make me climax in seconds. Harry sat back up, eyes fixed on my fingers as he thrust into me,

"You're so fucking..."

Distracted by what was in his view, the sentence died and he groaned loudly instead. His jaw tensed, and the focused frown on his forehead returned, a telltale sign that he was closer than I thought. I could tell it was taking everything he had not to lose control.

"Do you want to come, Harry?" I teased, seeing him struggling turning me on more than I could have ever imagined.

Weakly, he shook his head, despite us both knowing it was a lie. The lie tipped me over the edge, the furrowed brow and flushed cheeks, along with his desperate need to release sending me toward my third, but not final, orgasm. He was quick to follow, a loud and blissfully pained cry falling from his parted raspberry lips. He swore repeatedly as my muscles contracted around him, both of us lost in our joint moment of pleasure. Harry bent over and lay his head on my chest, arms wrapped under my back, making me arch up against his clammy torso. The bath was practically emptied of all water, and it wasn't long before the post-orgasmic chill turned into a real chill. Despite our shivering, neither of us made any attempt to move. I stroked his back with the tips of my fingers and watched as goosebumps appeared on his skin, trying to decide if it was me or the cold causing them.

"So, that's the hallway and the bath taken care of," Harry muttered. I could hear the smirk on his voice. Despite his collapsed state and the humour in his tone, it was no idle threat when he added, "Where next?"


	25. Perfect

Bathed and wrapped in white fluffy dressing gowns, we lay on the bed and – for the first time – did nothing but watch a movie. I curled up against Harry's side with my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. My anxiety from our earlier bath settled and was replaced with a feeling of comfort and calm that I usually only felt with Rose.

"Let me know if you get hungry and I'll order food." Harry's voice was a low mumble as he started to fall asleep. He had come straight from the airport and our momentary lack of action meant his jet lag was catching up. "I just need to rest my eyes."

"Okay, I'll wake you in an hour then," I giggled. "I'm not hungry yet."

His arm tightened around me, hugging me close before moving his hand to my side. "When I wake up, you can tell me why you have a great big, dirty anchor on your back."

Feeling stupid for having forgotten that he hadn't seen my tattoo, I buried my face in the soft fabric of his robe and gave a muffled 'okay'. Once the stinging had stopped, my drunken mistake became very much out of sight, out of mind. Somehow, Will hadn't noticed it even when we'd had sex, so a part of me must have thought Harry wouldn't notice it either. I wondered if he'd like it – not that he could judge me when he was covered in seemingly-random doodles. Even if he judged me for being a cliche Brit abroad, I wanted him to like the tattoo I'd gotten with him in mind.

Hearing Harry's gentle snores, his chest softly rising and falling under my palm, I felt happy and satisfied, as if this was exactly how I wanted to spend this day. Looking towards the TV screen and seeing our feet next to each other brought a strange warmth to my stomach that I didn't expect. Like my observation about his nose earlier, it was a weird thought that our feet somehow looked adorable together.

It wasn't long before my own lids grew heavy, and I, too, started to drift off. I was all too aware that once Harry had slept a little, he would be ready for round three. I'd been asleep for what felt like less than ten seconds when my phone started to ring, startling both Harry and me awake.

"Shit! I'm sorry!" I whispered, rolling across the bed and grabbing the phone from the bedside table. It was Rose, and normally I would have ignored her, but I knew she would be annoyed if I did that today. "Go back to sleep – it's just my friend."

Harry nodded sleepily and lay his head back down on the pillow. He curled up into the space I'd just left and mumbled something about hurrying back.

I smiled as I answered the call, continuing to whisper as I tiptoed into the living room. "Hello!"

"Hey! Where are you? why are you whispering?" she interrogated then, remembering why she'd called, quickly added, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Despite seeing him fall straight back to sleep, I turned to ensure that Harry hadn't followed me. It was my thirtieth birthday. I was no longer in my twenties; instead, I was practically a pensioner. I hadn't told Harry it was my birthday, and I was happy to keep it quiet – he didn't like talking about Will, and I liked talking about our age difference even less.

"I was asleep," I replied, not quite lying. "Thank you!"

"Asleep? I know you're old, but you're not going to sleep before dark old!" Rose laughed. "I'm so sad we're not doing anything today."

"I know, but we have Saturday to look forward to!" Trying to sound cheerful despite my slight sadness at not spending the day with her, I made a request. "Can you please, please, please just promise me you won't make me wear a birthday sash like last year? I can handle a balloon, but no sash."

"Okay, I promise."

As I erupted into giggles, I noticed my so-called best friend sounded disappointed. However, she knew I was serious, especially after I'd been so intoxicated last year that I'd gotten tangled in the sash whilst trying to take it off and had started to cry. I then proceeded to try and use the sash as a metaphor for life while sobbing and trying to eat a cheeseburger. I only hoped my birthday drinks this year were a lot less... messy.

It was strange to not be seeing her on my birthday. I had even come close to telling Harry that I couldn't meet him when he had sent me the dates he was free and suggested today. I'd told Rose I couldn't do our usual birthday plans because my mother-in-law had a personality transplant and was insisting I spend the day with her. To my surprise, Rose had looked relieved and proceeded to inform me that her boss was making her work that night and she'd been building up the courage to tell me.

"Are you having a good day with the she-devil?" Rose asked. "Did Will actually get you anything? Stupid question, I know."

I blushed, smiling as I recounted the day I'd had so far. "It's not been too shabby, actually. And of course not! When have you ever known my husband to remember my birthday?"

"I don't even know why I bothered to ask!"

Laughing, I turned my head to check that Harry was still asleep but found him leaning against the door frame, arms folded against his chest, with a look of confusion on his face. Mouth downturned and pouted, he was frowning and I could see the cogs turning, trying to work out if I'd spend my birthday with him without mentioning it.

"Uh... I've got to go. I'll see you on Saturday." I knew he'd heard me – it was obvious – and was now wondering why I hadn't told him. "Love you, bye!"

Hanging up on a confused Rose, I waited for Harry's reaction before saying anything.

"Your birthday?" he asked, brows furrowed. I nodded with no option but to tell the truth. "When is it?"

"It's... uh..." I stammered as I stared at my bare feet against the plush, white carpet, "... today."

"Okay." Harry disappeared into the bedroom, but I felt too guilty to follow him. He'd looked hurt and a bit upset. Now that he knew, I couldn't think of a logical reason why I'd kept it from him.

When eventually I plucked up the courage to enter the bedroom, I found Harry perched on the end of the bed on his phone. I wondered for a second if he was calling himself a car so he could leave. He lifted up his head to look at me as I skulked into the room and, to my huge relief, smiled.

"I've got to go, but tell them to ring me before they arrive. Sorry it's short notice." The fear he was leaving bubbled up once more. Had I ruined things again? We were just getting back on track and I had spoiled it all.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I muttered once he'd hung up, my face beginning to burn with shame. "I-I really don't know why I didn't."

"Lil, do you think I'm upset?" Harry questioned, standing and rushing toward me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, looked deep into my eyes, and dragged me into his chest as I nodded. "Of course I wish you'd told me, but I'm not upset! I'm just so happy that I get to spend your birthday with you! Well, what's left of it anyway."

He held me tight against him as he placed butterfly kisses on my forehead and down to the tip of my nose, before resting at my lips. It felt so silly to think he was angry, but I was so used to walking on eggshells around Will with his mood swings that I kept expecting Harry to overreact to something small. To behave in the same way.

"The night is still young," I murmured against his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck to get closer still. Harry hummed in agreement as he led me to the bed, his mouth parting to slide his tongue against my bottom lip.

"I have the perfect present," he muttered, tugging at the tie of my robe until it came undone. "An orgasm for every year."

I looked up at him, hoping he was joking, but his devilish grin and dark eyes told me that he was completely serious. In the blink of an eye, I was on my back with Harry hovering over me, his robe gone, his skin hot against mine.

"That's impossible!" Moaning, I parted my legs and felt the delicious weight of him on me as he settled between them.

"I can't get enough of you," he breathed heavily into my neck, kissing his way along my jaw until our lips met and we kissed with wild hunger and need. Pulling away, he panted down at me with a grin. "Spread over two days, it's entirely possible."

With an intensity that made my cheeks flush and my eyes want to look away, Harry watched me closely as he slid his cock between my slit. He smirked and bit his tongue as I swore, the feel of him rubbing over my bundle of crazed nerves repeatedly with his entire length feeling better than I could have ever imagined.

Moving so his fingers intertwined mine, he pinned our hands to the bed and increased his rhythm to the point where my knees bent and my toes came to a sharp point. I wasn't sure if he'd ever done this before – I knew I hadn't – but the twinkle in his eye and the smug smile told me he was proud that I was reacting so positively to the position. I suspected there was probably quite a few other women he would try it with, but I quickly pushed the thought of him with someone else away, focusing instead on how good he was making me feel.

"I want you inside me." My voice was wild and throaty as I reached between us to guide him into me, but just as the tip of him teased the entrance, his phone began to rang and he was gone.

The void between my legs felt infinite. I whimpered and begged for him to ignore the call, but instead, and whilst looking me in the eye, he ignored my pleas. The look of self-satisfaction on his face as he dressed had me torn between being turned on by his arrogance, and wanting to slap him.  Dramatically, I threw my arm above my head and let it fall on the bed with a soft bounce.

"I'm sorry," Harry grinned as he buttoned up his jeans, making his apology less than genuine. "We will pick up where we left off, I promise."

Now fully dressed, he came to stand in front of me and knelt on the bed, holding himself up on all fours over me. He leaned down and kissed me, slow and sensual, his tongue sliding into my mouth and moving with mine in a way that made me feel lightheaded with desire. The phone (which he hadn't answered) fell silent for a moment before beginning to ring again. I groaned and Harry laughed a low chuckle of pure enjoyment at my frustration.

Lips barely touching, our breath still mingling as we lay temptingly close, he finally answered the call.

"Hi. Thank you. Get the guys at the front desk to show you up. I told them I was expecting you. Okay. Bye, Lou."

Hanging up, he smiled at me and returned to our kiss briefly. I could sense his excitement, my hand on his chest feeling his heartbeat increase. I wondered why he'd called Lou here. And then I wondered where I was going to hide.

Harry pulled away, once again leaving barely an inch between our faces. "I need to go deal with this, but I'll be back and then, then I'm going to fuck you."

Nodding, I watched him leave the room. I couldn't speak – I could barely move. Whatever it was he was doing had better be important.


	26. Treat You Better

When Harry left the room, I got up and decided to get ready for our evening together. I touched up my makeup, tidied my hair, and put on one of the many lingerie sets I'd brought along with me before covering it up with silk pyjamas. For the first time in a long time, I felt cute and sexy. I knew that what I was wearing would be appreciated, and that made my stomach bubble with excitement.

I was hanging up our dressing gowns when the bedroom door opened and Harry reappeared. He was grinning but trying to suppress it, lips tight and almost smug. He looked me up and down but didn't stray from whatever he was up to, though I saw him mentally bookmark his reaction for later.

"All sorted?"

"Yep, come here." Staring at his outstretched hand, I frowned with puzzlement but did as he instructed.

As I walked over to where he stood, his smile broke and I mirrored it. I put my hand in his and for a moment we stayed like that, holding hands and grinning at each other like idiots. His palm was warm on mine, and the size of his hand made mine look almost childlike. Suddenly, he spun me around so my back was to him, then grabbed my wrists and covered my eyes with our hands.

"Close your eyes, and no peeking."

"Har-"

"Can you see anything?"

"Not a bloody thing. What are you doing?"

Harry's only reply was a low chuckle to himself, and a kiss on the top of my head. Slowly, he led me into the living room, both of us giggling as I took cautious steps and he used his body to guide me in the right direction. As we came to a sudden stop, his hands moved and I opened my eyes.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, breath caressing my ear as a warm light filled my blurred vision, "but it's all I could do in an hour."

If this was all he could manage in an hour, my mind boggled at what he could do with more notice. The room was filled with large bouquets of pink roses and pink foil balloons with '30' emblazoned in silver glitter. Everything flickered from the candles placed everywhere; I was gobsmacked. My throat constricted as I tried to swallow the lump of emotion swelling in my chest. It blew my mind that in an hour, the guy I was only having casual sex with had done more for my birthday than my husband had ever done in the six years we'd been married.

Other than the first couple of years where we weren't even married yet, not a single birthday of mine had been celebrated with Will. I considered it a touching gesture when he bothered to even casually toss a card across the breakfast table at me as he left for work. Other than those rare moments, my day of birth went entirely ignored, and it was left to Rose and me do our own thing.

"Is it okay?" Harry asked, taking my thoughtful silence as disappointment. "I would have do-"

Throwing my arms around his neck, I silenced him with a kiss. I couldn't speak for fear of bursting into tears, so I hoped that my actions expressed how much I loved what he had done. Will couldn't even put the effort into saying the words 'Happy Birthday,' but Harry had spoiled me the moment he'd known what day it was.

"Thank you." Swallowing the lump in my throat again, I smiled against his lips and kissed him once more. "Harry, this is honestly one of the loveliest things anyone has done for me – a serious contender for the best birthday ever."

Harry set his smile to full beam before taking hold of my hand and leading me towards the dining table. He'd ordered dinner and it was laid out with more candles, more roses and champagne. The emotional swell in my throat returned, this time bringing tears to the brim of my eyes along with it. Sitting down in the chair pulled out for me, I quickly swiped the tips of my index fingers along my waterline before Harry saw the effect his efforts had on me.

We ate dinner and swapped stories of various birthdays, both good and bad. He told me about the stripper his friends had organised for the birthday he'd just had, and I told him about going to a roller disco and falling flat on my face just as the DJ was giving me a birthday shoutout. I felt a comfortable warmth in my stomach, as though for one day I could pretend anyone or anything outside the two of us didn't exist. Letting out a happy sigh, I leant back in my seat and looked at the young man opposite me.

His face was framed by soft curls and his eyes reflected the flickering candles between us as he looked back at me. His lips met the rim of the champagne glass, and I could see him smile as he took a drink. I imagined it would be easy to fall in love with him, his charm and charisma being a deadly mix to most who met him. But it was the kind and genuine person that Harry was that made me see him as more than just someone I was sleeping with.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Placing the glass back down on the table, he leant his elbows on the table and turned up his gaze to its full intensity. "I feel like you're trying to read my thoughts."

With a short chuckle, I shrugged my shoulders and mirrored his leaning position. "Maybe I am."

"I'm just thinking about what I'd like to do if we could celebrate your birthday properly." His face turned thoughtful for a moment, and before I could ask what he'd like to do he spoke again. "I think I'd like to take you away somewhere. Paris, maybe? Or Italy?"

"Italy would be nice. I went to Venice with Rose a few years ago, but I'd like to go back and see more."

"Italy it would be, then." Harry smiled softly, a hint of sadness tinging his words at having to settle for being hidden away in a hotel room in London.

"In all honesty," I started, taking a sip of the bubbly champagne as I tried to perk his mood up, gesturing around the room at all he'd done for me, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now. This is perfect."

The toothy, beaming smile was back, and he leapt from his chair as though remembering something important. Reaching over the back of the sofa he lifted up a purple  _Liberties_  bag and brought it over to the table before handing it to me.

"I asked Lou to pick something out for you, so if you don't like it blame her." He looked adorably worried as he sat in the chair next to me. "Please say if you don't like it."

"Baby, I'm sure I'll love it." Touching his arm, I felt anxiety prickle in my stomach that I might in fact hate Harry's gift and would have to lie to him.

I opened the bag and reached inside for whatever his friend Lou Teasdale had chosen for me. This was a task I didn't envy her for. I spent forever debating on gifts for people I'd known for years – I'd never be able to choose something for someone I didn't even know! I wondered what his suggestions to her had been, and what things he'd told her I might like.

Wrapped in scented, purple tissue paper was a box clutch purse. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Covered in tiny flowers and crystals, the purse itself was a soft peach colour. The clasp was shaped like a skull and decorated further with crystals. It was, like the whole evening itself, absolutely perfect.

Once more, Harry started to speak, thinking I was disappointed, and once more, I silenced him with a long, lingering kiss.

"Lou did good?" he grinned.

"Lou did very good; tell her I love it." I grinned back, then paused. "Wait, who does she think it's for? Does she know too?"

Harry shook his head and stood up, clearing away the tissue paper and putting it back in the  _Liberties_  bag. "No, she knows I'm seeing someone, and I've hinted that the person is already in a relationship, but she doesn't know who."

"Let's hope that when I meet her I'm not using this bag," I laughed, somewhat forcedly. "It would be a dead giveaway."

Both of us were silent for a moment, and I suspected he was doing what I was: picturing a scenario where I walked into a room with Will, carrying my clutch, and the first people we bumped into were Harry and Lou. We'd exchange hello's, all while she kept her eyes on the gift she'd picked out, wondering if it were possible that this was a coincidence. Harry being Harry, with the way he'd watch me while Will talked, it would be like a klaxon and flashing, red signs to anyone who knew him.

"Well," Harry finally spoke, the tone of his voice light though he was frowning, "I've already said I won't be putting us in situations where you don't know you'll see me. I don't think it'll happen."

He smiled down at me before bending down to press a reassuring kiss to my forehead. I hoped he was right, that there were no more slip ups or attempts to catch me unaware. He'd made a promise that I would always know if he was going to be somewhere I was, and I just wanted him to keep that promise.

**•**

Cheeks flushed, skin coated in a sheen of perspiration, and a continuous throb between my legs, I slid off Harry and collapsed on the bed. I could see him turn his head to look at me out of the corner of my eye and we both laughed that post orgasm giggle lovers share in the moments where they can't believe the intensity of their shared release. He slid a hand across the sheets until it met mine, and we tangled our fingers together while we regained the ability to talk.

Every inch of my body felt spent. Even my eyelashes seemed to sting and beg for rest. Harry had returned to his quest of thirty orgasms, beginning at the dining table with me sat in my chair and him back on his knees, before moving to the sofa surrounded by flowers, then back to bed. Every time I'd think I had nothing left to give, convinced I couldn't possibly come again, words of encouragement and reassurance would flow from Harry's mouth and I would want to do it for him. He'd given me so much that evening that I wanted to give him what he asked for.

But as I lay there panting and aching, I was officially done. Thankfully, from the sleepiness in his eyes, so was Harry.

"So, have you had a good birthday?" Muttering tiredly, he rolled onto his side and moved closer, kissing my shoulder before resting his damp head on it.

"I've had a wonderful birthday," I answered, grinning from ear to ear. "Possibly the best. But don't tell Rose that!"

"It'll be our secret, though I might find it hard not to brag when I meet her." He paused, moving his hand to my hip and stroking the skin with his thumb. There was no sexual intention behind his touch, but an idle need to have as much physical contact as possible. "I wish I could meet your friends, especially Rose. And I wish you could meet mine. A lot of them are around the same age as you, so I think you'd all get on."

"They are?" I asked, surprised I hadn't known this, though the fact itself wasn't such a shock. Harry occasionally had moments of immaturity, but mostly, when we were all alone and just talking about silly stuff, I did forget there was even an age gap. We had a lot in common, especially when it came to music, so it made sense that as he became more assured of the person he was, that he'd surround himself with people who were older or liked the things he did. It helped me feel less like I was some evil person, corrupting his youth or taking advantage of him – Harry had entirely made the decision he wanted me in his life. He could have had anyone his own age, but he somehow wanted me.

We lay close until I heard Harry's now familiar snores, his body twitching against mine occasionally as he slid further into slumber. Deciding I should probably rest, I carefully pulled the bed covers up over us and made sure we were both warm and comfortable. He stirred only for a moment, lifting his head off the pillow to kiss my cheek and mumbling, "Happy birthday, Lil, sleep well," before laying back down and heading straight back to sleep.


	27. New Tattoo

The sound of running water and Harry singing woke me up. I rolled over onto my back, feeling content with my lovely wake up call, and stretched across the bed to feel the fading warmth of where he'd slept. My body protested at the sudden movement. I was starting to ache all over from the previous day's activities, muscles complaining about Harry's quest to leave no sexual stone unturned, but I couldn't deny that I was looking forward to what we'd get up to over the rest of the day.

I was debating getting up to join him in the shower when the singing fell silent, and the water was turned off. Moments later, he appeared in the doorway with a towel wrapped low around his hips.

"You're awake!" he smiled. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

At least, that's what I think he said. I was more focused on the droplet of water traveling down the length of his torso until it reached the towel and disappeared. I licked my bottom lip before sinking my teeth into it. I had never seen anything or anyone more delicious in my life.

"Sure," I answered absentmindedly, "we can order breakfast."

Harry's face broke into a smug smirk, adding to my desire to leap out of bed and use my tongue to follow the route the water droplet had travelled down. Knowing full well what he was doing, he turned around and pulled his towel undone giving me a clear sight of his small-yet-perfectly-formed behind as he disappeared back into the bathroom.

I got up from bed, instantly feeling the tightness in my thighs as I moved. Hobbling to join Harry in the bathroom, I hoped that a steamy, hot shower would soothe the protesting muscles.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, watching as I made my way over to the shower and turned it on with a grunt as I stretched. "Thirty hit you hard!"

"No, coming thirteen times in various positions has hit me hard, thanks," I retorted, pausing from tying up my hair to give him the finger.

He grinned proudly and replied, "Fifteen, actually."

"Yes, well, whatever!"

My cheeks grew hot at the fact he'd reached his supposed halfway point. Granted, some of those orgasms had been one after the other. Like when he'd wrapped his arms around my thighs, pulling me tight to his mouth while I tried to pull away, sensitive and shaking. He'd kept going until I was back to begging him not to stop and grinding myself up against his tongue. Or when I was on all fours as he took me from behind, and he'd wrap himself over my back to slide his hand from my hip to between my legs. As one orgasm faded, he'd start to circle my needy bundle of nerves until I buried my face in the sheets and cried out through yet another climax. My body was Harry's playground, and he was enjoying discovering new ways to play with me and leave me nothing more than a whimpering mess.

Fifteen was an insane amount of orgasms for one night – a world record, maybe? But it didn't surprise me.

Harry made every inch of me feel alive. Even the simplest touch of his hand on my arm sent jolts of electricity through me like I'd never felt before. We clicked when we were together! Nobody has perfect sex – there's always fumbling, weird noises, bumping of heads, or an awkwardly-timed hip cramp. Even with that, Harry and I seemed to just... ride through it together, giggling when they happened but not letting it distract from what we were doing. We were experimenting and learning together, having fun finding out what made us feel incredible.

"So, I have some calls I need to make," Harry yawned, rubbing a hand over his bare chest, "but when I'm done and you're out of the shower, we'll order breakfast, yeah?"

"Perfect!"

At the mention of food, I felt my stomach rumble and I realised I was famished. We'd worked off last night's dinner, so breakfast was a welcomed suggestion, especially as I suspected I was going to need the energy.

 

Shower and breakfast out of the way, we lay on the sofa and enjoyed the lack of pressure to do anything. For Harry, it was a rare day where he didn't have to be 'Harry Styles, Pop Star' – he could just relax and knew I wasn't really interested in or even knew that persona. Laying next to each other, legs tangled and hands idly stroking wherever they rested, we chatted about nonsense and soaked up each other's company.

"I can't believe I forgot to ask you last night," Harry asked suddenly, his sleepy eyes widening as his fingers flew to where my tattoo lay. "An anchor?"

Avoiding his curious gaze, I toyed with a loose thread on the waistband of his sweat pants and admitted, "I was drunk. In Ibiza."

His laugh was loud and surprised, bursting from him in a cackle as he pulled up my top and got me to move so he could take a closer look. The laughter faded as his index finger traced the edges, brushing over the ink, which seemed to have made my skin more sensitive.

He started to laugh again, a soft chuckle that made me blush. I felt maybe he thought I was stupid, like he expected better from me.

"Excuse me, Styles, why exactly are you laughing?" I twisted to face him. He was propped up on one elbow with an amused grin on his face. "You have some awful tattoos! You can't judge mine!"

"Hey!" he frowned, a hand flying to his chest in feigned insult. "I was laughing because I never had you down as a drunken-tattoo-in-Ibiza type of gal. But here you are with a great big anchor like some dirty old sailor." He paused and looked uncertain. "Do you really think they're terrible?"

"Harry, sweetheart, you have tattoos of an iced gem and Pingu." Giggling, I suddenly felt much better about my choice. Really, it could have been a lot worse.

"They have very special memories attached to them," Harry grinned. "Okay, but why an anchor?"

"I can't give you a fancy answer, I'm afraid," I lied, avoiding his eyes and shrugging. "I was drunk, and I liked it. I only went to the studio because Rose wanted to hook up with her ex."

"Well, I like it! I might get one." Stretching the arm he'd been tracing my tattoo with to see if it would suit having anchor on it, he looked serious and muttered, "it would match my ship."

"Flowers, too?" Teasing, I pushed down the nervousness which stirred at the thought of Harry having the same tattoo. Rose would know why he had it as soon as she saw it, and I suspected that if Will ever spotted mine, then saw Harry's, it wouldn't take long to put two and two together.

"Maybe!" he mused, oblivious to my stress.

Wanting to change the subject, I lay back down and we instantly tangled our limbs back together. I kissed along his jawline and hoped there was no more tattoo talk. I'd swerved any overly awkward questions about why I'd chosen an anchor, and hoped that any thought of him getting his-and-hers matching tattoos would be forgotten by the time we left tomorrow.

"I guess it's lucky that in all my time there, this is the first really stupid thing of done."

"Personally, I don't think it's that stupid. At least the design and work is good. It could have been something terrible." Moving so he was back on his side, resting on his elbow with his head propped in his palm, he added, "I really like it."

I couldn't help but smile to myself, feeling a huge sense of relief that he didn't hate it. I didn't quite want him going out and getting the same thing, but while I'd got it as some stupid reminder not to get involved with him again – and that had completely gone out of the window – it did make me feel like less of an idiot.

"Have you ever been to Ibiza?"

Harry shook his head. "I sort of missed out on all the lads' holidays that my mates go on, so I've never been."

"Harry, I think the lads on tour adventures you have 100 percent beat a week in Zante, drinking far too much and ending up in A & E, or pulling some disaster of a girl and fucking in the crappy hotel apartment you share with six other guys," I laughed, trying to imagine some of the shenanigans he'd gotten up to, suspecting they'd probably make mine look like child's play. "I loved every second of my time in Ibiza, but I wouldn't necessarily say you missed anything."

"You're probably right," he muttered as he stared out of the window thoughtfully. I was beginning to worry I'd upset him when he turned his attention back to me, his smile reappearing and a twinkle forming in his eye. "I definitely didn't miss out if you weren't going to be one of my reps. Do you have any photos?"

"Well, you'd have been ten when I was working there for a kick off, but you're in luck!"

Reaching my hand out, I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and scrolled through my pictures, feeling Harry's interested gaze focus in on the images as I flipped through. There wasn't anything too embarrassing or shocking, but it was strangely intimate to have him get a quick glimpse into my camera roll. Pictures of Rose passed out in bed fully dressed and cradling a half-eaten kebab, some silly meme that Terry had sent me which had made me laugh too hard and too long, photos of the event I'd organised before going to the film premiere, and finally, the pictures I was looking for: eighteen-year-old me in my holiday rep uniform.

Taken on the first day of my second season, I'd posed in my aquamarine skirt suit and grinned at the camera widely. My hair was shoulder length, poker straight, and heavily highlighted. Despite being in Spain, I was wearing far too much fake tan. Harry made a noise that was half laugh and half gasp, and I watched his eyes widen as he grabbed the phone from my hand to inspect the image closer.

"How old are you here?" he asked, glancing at me with a grin.

"That's not long after I met Rose, so I'd be eighteen."

I moved the image along to the next photo: Rose and me standing with our two other flatmates, Adele and Ffion. Standing all in a row, we'd beamed excitedly in our matching uniforms and emanated youth. It was strange to think that I was only a year younger than Harry in that picture, our lives both very different but neither one conventional. Remembering how grown up I'd felt at that age, wiser and experienced beyond my years, I recognised why Harry thought himself that way, too. He'd left home at 16/17 and never went back, something I had done as well, though due to very different circumstances.

Swiping the screen, the image changed to another photo of just me. This time, it was a year later and I was nineteen, in my casual uniform of an aquamarine polo shirt and white shorts that Will had reminded me I would no longer fit into. Arms stretched up, and one leg bent so my foot was pointed, I'd stood next to one of the swimming pools in a hotel we'd serviced and smiled widely. The fake tan was gone, the hair was tied back – by this point, I'd already felt like a veteran rep.

"Uh... I need a copy of this photo," Harry groaned, peering at it so closely his nose practically bumped the screen.

Quietly, I muttered, "This was a month or so before I met Will."

"In that case, I'd have married you, too. You look so fit!" Quickly, he turned to me and kissed my cheek. "You look just as fit now, by the way."

I giggled and showed him the last photo Rose had sent me, but this time I was just me and her. With my husband's continuous comments about how he'd wanted to sleep with her and how I wouldn't fit in my shorts still echoed in my mind, I couldn't resist the need to see if Harry commented on her, too.

"Woah!" he gasped, and then to my absolute relief, he zoomed in closer on me. "Is that a tongue piercing?"

I watched his face as he changed the photo back to the one of just me, a dirty smile playing on his lips as he sent it to his phone before turning to look at me. Hands sliding up under my top with devilish intent, he moved to position himself over me and kissed me deeply.

"I definitely missed out on you in that outfit, but," he paused, thumb lazily circling my right nipple, sliding his leg between mine, and muttered, "I get you now, so that makes up for it." He paused again for a second to kiss me. His hand moving from my breast to my backside, he twisted my lower half so I could grind against his thigh slowly. "Although, feel free to dress up like that for me in future."

We both laughed, our giggles muffled by kisses. We moved on from my trip down memory lane to something a little more hot and heavy. I suddenly needed him so much – more than I ever had. I'd felt absolutely repulsive in that restaurant with Will, hearing him tear me to shreds with his words. Will had taken a sledgehammer to my self-confidence a few weeks prior, but Harry had somehow managed to temporarily put it back together.

It began to dawn on me that maybe there were two Layla's: the boring, married Layla who disgusted her husband, and the sexy, wanton Layla who'd begun to gain her self-confidence back at the hands of one Mr. Harry Styles.


	28. Coming Over

 

Being in my own home felt... weird.

It had been a few hours since I'd gotten back from my dirty mini-break with Harry, but I still felt like I'd been away for years. When I'd opened the front door, the house was eerily silent apart from the sound of clocks ticking and cars passing by outside. It had taken a while to get rid of the empty stillness, but the feeling of being in a strange place still remained.

The first thing I did was put on some music, playing old sixties songs loudly while I disappeared upstairs to change into clothes that were a little more comfortable. Normally, I would have jumped straight in the shower to scrub away any lingering scent of Harry from my body before Will arrived home, but as he was still on his business trip, I could enjoy the remnants for just a little bit longer. For the first time, I was able to actually bask in the glow I got when I spent time with Harry and not have to hide it away instantly.

Having lived the life of luxury for the past couple of days, I was sad to return to my regular day-to-day. I sorted through my overnight bag for what needed to be washed, what needed to go back upstairs, and what needed to be hidden. I, then, put the flowers Harry had gotten me in vases, placing them in various spots around the house, making sure to put one in the middle of the large coffee table so I could see them while I was sat in there.

I'd just finished showering and was about to call and ask Rose to join me for a takeaway when my phone started to ring loudly. Picking it up off the bed, I was surprised to see Harry's code name on the screen.

"Hello?" I answered skeptically, ready for Harry to tell me he was outside my house again when only hours ago he'd cupped my face and promised he would stop doing things like that.

"Hi!" Ignoring my tone, he sounded cheerful and ever so slightly merry. He'd told me he was going to some event with friends – a fashion show or something along those lines – and it was evident in his greeting that he'd taken advantage of the free bar. "Can you talk? Are you at home?"

"I am, and yes."

I headed over to the bedroom window and looked down at the street, expecting to see a car pulling up with a tipsy boybander inside. Instead, all I saw was one of my neighbours arrive home from work, tripping slightly on a wonky pavement stone as she searched in her bag for her keys. Other than that, the road was quiet. While I hoped that finally Harry had learned his lesson about turning up at my house, I couldn't deny a small part of me was disappointed.

"Great! It's just..." He was trying hard to sound casual. Too hard. I'd thought too soon, given him too much credit, and knew what was coming next. "... I'm heading home, and I'm close to yours and –"

"And you want to know if you can come here?"

He was silent for a moment, worried he'd pissed me off by once again pushing his luck. The only reason I wasn't hanging up was because he'd at least had the decency to ask if he could come to the house before showing up.

"I won't come if you don't want me to, Lil," he muttered, words stumbling. "I just – I missed you."

My cheeks flushed red and I started to grin like an idiot. I'd rattled around the house, doing chores and trying to go back to my normal routine, but I'd missed him, too. Hearing it was mutual managed to override any annoyance lingering around. Rubbing my thumb over a rose petal from the bouquet I'd placed on the windowsill, I tried to weigh my options. Though deep down I knew what I wanted, I wanted to at least pretend like I wasn't going to let him get his own way.

Will was on the other side of the world – there was no chance he'd be coming home. The only worry I had was if Harry was seen, or if Will's mother decided to check up on me. I also didn't want Rose turning up – I hadn't told her I was seeing Harry again and I didn't want her to find out any other way than by telling her myself.

"Lil?" The worried voice on the other end of the phone prompted me back to reality before adding, "I'm sorry. I don't want to piss you off."

"Just make sure you aren't seen."

Hanging up on his promises to be careful, I exhaled loudly and wondered why I was such a fucking idiot when it came to Harry.

The doorbell announcing Harry's arrival came sooner than I'd expected. I'd managed to throw on some make-up and plait my wet hair so it wasn't a mess when it dried, but I was still in a baggy t-shirt that said 'Jesus is coming – look busy' and leggings with a hole in the crotch. It was hardly the glamorous look I'd been trying to have him believe I kept up at all times, but as I rushed to let him in, I remembered how I'd looked in the cafe the night after we met. He hadn't been put off then, and I hopefully looked nowhere near as bad now.

Barely getting the door open, Harry pushed me inside and shut it behind him. He giggled nervously, and exhaled with relief at being safely inside.

"Were you followed?" I couldn't ignore the worry when Harry came to the house, especially if Will wasn't home. I didn't have to be seen, but if my house was in any paparazzi photos, he would know instantly that something was going on. There was simply no innocent reason for Harry to be here if my husband wasn't home.

"No." He looked nervous as he shook his head, waiting for me to tell him off. "I'm just extra cautious when I visit you."

"Just not cautious enough to not come?"

"What can I say? I like to live dangerously. Anyway, I did say I would go home if you wanted," he grinned cheekily before looking me up and down, grin turning to a smirk. "Sexy."

"Sorry to shatter the illusion, Harry, but I don't live my life in stockings, heels and push up bras." I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips. Cheeks starting to warm, I looked down at my slobbish outfit and noticed a long, white, loose thread which was hanging down my thigh. As I broke it off I muttered, "If you'd given me a bit more notice I would have changed."

"Hey!" Stepping forward to close the space between us, he kissed me softly, his arms sliding around my waist to hold me to him. There was a taste of alcohol on his breath, and I wondered exactly how much he'd had to drink. "I can still leave if you want?"

"No, you can stay."

The first thing I did after making him a strong coffee was go upstairs to get changed into something less slobbish. I was aware of how awkward it was going to be to have Harry in my marital bedroom, but preferring the awkwardness to leaving him downstairs alone, I let him follow me up.

At first, he just stood near the door with his arms folded across his chest and looked around, taking in details while I picked up the wet towel I'd used off the floor. I told him he could sit down while I changed, but as I expected (but had hoped wouldn't happen), he got distracted by the wall opposite the bottom of my bed. Curiosity overtaking him, he walked over to it and let his gaze wander over each and every white frame filled with photographs of my wedding to Will.

Desperate to distract, I stripped off my clothes and stood in the middle of the room naked, but got no reaction. Even when I moved behind him to get to my walk-in wardrobe, touching his shoulder as I passed, his eyes stayed focused on the black & white images of my wedding day.

Continuing into the closet, my heart pounded as each picture flashed in my memory. There wasn't just four or five photos on the wall – it was practically an entire photo album detailing the day from start to finish: drinking peach mimosas with my bridesmaids in the morning, driving to the ceremony in a vintage Morris Minor, sharing our first kiss as man and wife, cutting the cake, and the first dance. It had been a near-perfect day – apart from Will's mother crying with disappointment as we exchanged our vows and everyone asking why I had no family at the wedding so I'd asked Terry to give me away.

Walking back out into the bedroom and half-expecting to find Harry gone, I was surprised and sad to see him still taking in each picture, face impassive. Standing behind him, I rested my chin on his shoulder and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist.

"H, please stop looking at these."

"You look beautiful."

"This old thing?"

I knew what he meant but chose to feign confusion by referring to the loose, strappy dress I'd put on, hoping he'd get the hint that I wanted this conversation to end. He reached his hand up and touched one of the few photos of me alone. I was in my floor-length, lace wedding dress, dancing with a glass in my hand and laughing at someone unseen. I looked every bit the happy new bride, excited for what the future held, happy I'd married the man I loved. That happiness would be short-lived – what with the other side to Will emerging only a year later – but the woman in the photo had no idea of any of that. She was certain all the bad things that had happened in her life were behind her – that she could leave the poor girl from Liverpool behind her and be happy being Mrs. Layla Winifred French.

(Okay, so maybe she'd drop her middle name, but either way, she was happy.)

I missed her naivety.

"In the wedding pictures, Lil."

"Oh, that old thing," I mumbled.

Suddenly, Harry turned to face me with a serious look on his face. I prayed that I didn't cry in front of him again as he gave me his 'I can't do this anymore' speech. His eyes were brimming with tears, and I practically leapt across the room to get away from how much my heart was breaking for him. This was too big for him to deal with, and I hated how seeing those pictures was really affecting him.

"I'm hungry! We should go downstairs and order food. Did you want to watch a movie? Or we can just listen to music? It's still warm out, so we could sit outside if you wanted to." I was babbling, trying to get back the cozy little bubble we'd been in the past few days. I wanted desperately to get him out of this room.

Watching him, Harry walked over to my bed and sat defiantly on the edge, arms stretched out behind him. I could tell he was being intentionally stubborn – he wanted to talk about the exact thing I didn't.

"Layla," he spoke, making my stomach drop, knowing what was coming next, "why did you marry him?"

Boom!

There it was, the question that would ruin our night.

We'd spent the past few days in a our own little space, enjoying each other and not really living in the reality of what we were doing. Now, the reality was inescapable. We were in the bedroom I shared with my husband, surrounded by photos and memories, Harry sitting on our bed. My life with Will was everywhere around us, and I was regretting bringing Harry in here.

"I'm not answering that, Harry. Please don't spoil the nice time we've had."

"I'm not trying to spoil anything, Layla," he replied. "All I'm asking is why you married your husband."

Surprised that he sounded angry, I had to shut this conversation down quickly before it escalated to us saying things we would regret. Harry was having a rare moment of wanting to talk because he'd seen that, at one point, I'd been extremely happy with Will, and didn't seem to want to back down. I, however, wanted to keep things as they were: for him to be my happy place, knowing nothing more than he already knew about my marriage. He'd seen how Will could be with me and was fully aware that there wasn't a lot of love there anymore. Anything else was unnecessary.

"Why do you even want to know?" Rubbing my temples, I sighed and tried to keep the urge to throw a tantrum at bay.

"Because I just don't understand it," Harry shrugged, standing back up and heading over to the wall. He pointed at the photo of Will and me kissing, our first as man and wife, and looked at me with eyes that raged with jealousy. "I don't know how you married a man who treats you the way he does. A man who saw you look this beautiful and could still behave the way he does."

"I..." the answer died as soon as it started. I wanted to ask what he'd seen or heard to make him hate Will so much. There was something in his anger that told me I didn't have all the information.

"Layla," his voice softened when I swiped away an unwanted tear as it rolled down my cheek. The anger was gone but his sadness remained. "You deserve better."

More tears threatened to spill, but I swallowed them and took a deep breath. Harry had no idea what he was talking about, his nineteen-year-old idealistic views on what marriage is like was cute, but it was different in the real world.

Purposefully turning my need to cry into annoyance, I put my defences up and walked to the bedroom door. Cold in tone, I simply told him, "this conversation is over, Harry."


	29. Coffee

 

I woke early to find Harry was curled close to me. His hand was resting on my hip and his face lay close to mine, a subtle smile on his lips as he dreamed peacefully. Wrapped in his warmth, I hoped I could fall back to sleep, but my brain was wide awake and all I could think about was the night before.

Deciding to get up, I quietly slid from under his hand and made sure he was still sleeping. I contemplated waking him to see if he wanted coffee, but as we'd only been asleep for a few hours, I left him to rest. I grabbed one of the dressing gowns hanging from the back of the bedroom door and headed downstairs to make myself some tea. My legs were stiff and achy as I walked down the stairs, but instead of my usual 'I'm too bloody old for all this action' thought, I just smiled and ignored the pain.

I wasn't usually a tea drinker – a crime in the UK – but this morning it was both needed and welcomed. With the tv on low, I stared deep into my heavily-sugared cup and thought about the night before's events.

There had been a lot of tension. We were both upset, but I wasn't annoyed enough to throw him out and when he sat outside with me, he showed no sign of leaving. I wanted to speak, even try and answer his question, but my mouth seemed to have a lock on it. Nothing would come out and I realised it was stubbornness, the kind that came from years of arguing with Will. When we argued, there was no point entering into a healthy, adult discussion – he was right and I was nearly always wrong, end of story. I'd learned that for a happy life, I should just keep my mouth shut, not to try explain where I was coming from or why I was upset, and accept his blame on me. Always. As it had been with our anniversary dinner, he'd apologised but had flipped it so it was my fault he'd acted like a dickhead.

Harry didn't seem to operate that way. He wasn't much of a talker, but he moved on quick when we fell out, and accepted his own part in the disagreement. I wanted to reciprocate, to give him the respect he gave me, but I just couldn't talk about my marriage to him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, after what felt like an eternity of silence. He placed his hand on my thigh and squeezed it gently. "I didn't want to upset you."

Laying my hand on his, I accepted his apology. "I know. I just really hate talking about this with you. Everything is easier when we don't talk about my marriage."

Harry moved closer, resting his elbow on the back of the rattan sofa. Hand on my shoulder, he played with the strap of my dress idly and chuckled when I shivered involuntarily.

"Guess I was asking for trouble by going into your bedroom, eh?" I turned and caught him looking at me sadly, quickly forcing a smile. "Should have stayed downstairs and checked out your record collection."

"You can do that if you want. I have nothing to hide!"

"Later."

He tilted his head as he leaned in to kiss me, moving his hand from my knee and cradling my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek softly. I quietly moaned when his teeth grazed my bottom lip, pulling it so his tongue could slide into my mouth. There was an aggression to his kiss that reminded me of being on the bed at the afterparty for the band's movie, as though he'd truly missed me.

Confident we couldn't be seen by any of my neighbours, I moved to straddle his thighs, which Harry welcomed gratefully. He paused to look up at my face as he held it in his hands, taking me in with a look that equally excited and terrified me. A look that, once again, reminded me that we weren't just having casual sex anymore. No, this was becoming something else, something deeper. Cheeks burning, I blushed at the unabashed attention as I leaned down to kiss him again.

It didn't take long for his fingers to move from my face to my thighs and slide under my dress, where he discovered that in my panic to get him out of my room, I'd neglected to put panties on. I hadn't put any on after my shower, and it wasn't until I was flouncing my way downstairs in annoyance that I realised things between me legs were a little... breezy.

"Layla!" Harry gasped then groaned as he lifted the hem up to check he hadn't imagined things. A deadly, lopsided smirk spread along his lips and I bit the side of my index finger innocently to hide that I was actually embarrassed. "Fuck."

Grabbing onto his shoulders, I repeated his profanity when his thumb brushed over my clit unexpectedly. I crushed my mouth to his to silence my whimpers as he continued to stroke the tiny bundle of nerves, quick to react despite how much attention it had had in the past few days. With minimal work from him, I was grinding against his hand with an embarrassing desperation. Burying my face into his neck, kissing and sucking his warm skin sloppily, I hazily marvelled that he could do so little to make me so lost in him.

"I... want... you," I managed to whisper, hips rocking faster. "Now."

Harry laughed, amused as always by my change from ice queen to whimpering minx, and asked quietly, "Here?"

I shook my head as I sat up. I knew we couldn't be seen, but there was a chance we could be heard. We'd been quiet so far, voices low and any noises of pleasure stifled, but we had a tendency to get carried away, so I couldn't risk Mrs. Higgins hearing me have sex with someone who wasn't my husband. It was bad enough Harry was in the house at all – fucking in the garden was just asking for all kinds of trouble.

The moment we got to the bedroom at the top of the house, I pushed him onto the bed, dropped to my knees, and began undoing his jeans. He was already hard when I pulled the front of his briefs down and wrapped my hand around his silky-smooth hardness. Looking up at Harry's face, I noticed he bit his lip with anticipation, watching me take his cock as far as I could into my mouth. His breath hitched when his tip nudged the back of my throat and I fought my gag reflexes.

"You look like such a lady," he teased once I'd pulled back so I once again held him in my hand.

Blushing and fluttering my eyelashes, I ran the flat of my tongue over his head as daintily as I could, a small lap to prove that I could still be a lady and give him the best blowjob he'd ever have.

Tongue moving up to where his nerve endings were, I circled the head of his cock slowly. He whimpered my name and stroked my hair, looking down at me with a blissed expression. I rarely got the chance to focus on solely pleasuring Harry. He would always beat me to it, or we'd just have sex. I enjoyed listening to his gasps and groans, the feel of him twitching in my palm, and the salty taste of his precum. Being on my knees, worshiping his cock, felt so incredibly naughty, yet felt oh-so-right.

I took my time. My hands and mouth worked in a rhythmic tandem until Harry's grip tightened in my hair and he begged me not to stop. Hips bucking forward, his come hit the back of my throat with a surprising force, and I swallowed it hungrily, enjoying the taste of him. No sooner had the final drop been drained was I pulled up by my arms so he could kiss me.

Pulling the straps of my dress down, Harry tugged at the loose fabric until it fell to the floor around my feet. He kissed my hips and my stomach as I held my breath, always feeling nervous that he'd be repulsed that I was unlikely to ever look like the other girls he dated. But as his mouth wandered up to my naked breasts, he mumbled, "You're so beautiful, Lil. Every inch of you."

Knock! Knock!

The sound of someone at the front door had me leaping off the sofa in a panic. I'd been so lost in thought that I was scrambling for sense on what I should do. Should I ignore it? Should I answer? What if it was Will coming home early, having done the usual of packing his keys in the bottom of his suitcase? Or – worse – what if it was Will's mother, Verity, coming to check up on me at his request?

I heard the sound of keys jingling in the door and I froze. My heart leapt into my throat, and my knees turned to jelly. Images of Harry shimmying down the drainpipe in some sort of 'Confession of a Window Cleaner' pastiche flashed through my head, him climbing fences in red and white heart print boxers and landing at the paws of a snarling, drooling guard dog not helping to quell the panic.

A mess of ginger hair appeared in the hallway, carrying cups of hot chocolate and what my expertly-trained eye suspected to be caramel custard doughnuts. I practically collapsed with relief. Rose didn't know about Harry and me, but of all people to pay an unexpected visit, she was the most preferable. Without noticing me standing petrified in the living room, she called out my name before dropping her keys in her bag.

"Lil? LAYL – Ah! There you are," she smiled and then quickly frowned with confusion. "What are you doing just standing there?"

"Christ! You frightened the life out of me," I clutched my chest and felt my heart return to its normal rhythm and my knees to their regular steadiness. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I said I'd pop by today, remember? Have a pamper day before tomorrow night's debauchery," Rose smiled and walked into the kitchen, thankfully not noticing the dinner setup for two on the dining table as she passed it. "I got you a mocha instead of hot chocolate because I know you like a change, but I knew not to mess with your pastry."

As I followed her, I could feel that I was acting shifty and suspicious, eyes darting to the hall in hopes that Harry wasn't going to suddenly appear. Rose seemed oblivious to my nerves, and I was unsure whether to divulge that I was playing hostess to an overnight guest so our plans would have to wait until he left.

"Very wise," I replied distractedly.

Still with no idea of my inner turmoil, Rose carried her coffee and Belgian bun into the living room, handing my plate and cup to me as she passed. Settling onto the sofa, she waited for me to join her before asking, "So, how was the birthday? Did Will actually buy you anything this year? Is Lady Verity buried in the back garden?"

I sat at the opposite end of the sofa to Rose, and with every fibre of my being, I urged Harry not to come down – prayed that he would hear us talking and know to stay upstairs until it was safe. Unsure how to get rid of her without hurting her feelings or acting incredibly suspicious, all I could do was try to act normal until I found some sort of solution.

"No, of course he didn't! And let's face it, being away isn't even an excuse. He wouldn't have gotten me anything anyway." I pretended to sip at my mocha, despite feeling like my throat was closing up.

"I'm so looking forward to tomorrow night. We're going to dance our little socks off!" Rose grinned and a crashing wave of guilt hit me. I should just tell her that Harry was in bed upstairs, and that while Will had given me nothing, Harry had made me feel like a queen.

"Me too," I paused. "Listen, the reason I di-"

"Hold that thought – I need to pee," Rose cut me off, heading to the toilet next to the stairs before I could insist she listen to what I had to say.

Grabbing my phone, I sent Harry a message to stay upstairs until the coast was clear, but heard his phone beep on the table next to me from where he'd left it the previous night. We'd eaten food, and lay on the sofa watching a movie which turned into some serious heavy petting. My stomach dropped, and I considered just telling the truth to Rose while she was safely locked away in the bathroom. Before I had the chance, I heard the toilet door open.

"Oh," I heard from the hallway, "I was going to ask if I could-"

Silence.

I got up and saw through the wide archway of the living room that Harry, like a ninja, had come downstairs without a sound, coming chest-to-face with a rarely speechless Rose.

They both turned to look at me. Harry's face was filled with alarm, and Rose's filled with shock, confusion, and a hint of being starstricken, but all I could think was 'thank God Harry has clothes on.'

I felt pressure to say something, to break the tension and lessen the awkwardness.

"Uh... Rose, this is Harry. Harry, this is Rose."


	30. Just A Little Bit Of Your Heart

 

Rose's eyes were so wide, they were almost completely full circles. She looked from me to Harry, then back to me again, mouth moving to speak but failing to make a sound. To my relief, it was Harry that made the first move because fear had glued me to the spot. Reaching out, he pulled Rose into a gentle hug and kissed her cheek.

"Rose! It's so nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you from Layla." The mention of my name brought me back into the reality of the situation. I locked eyes with Harry who was now chatting away at my stunned friend who was looking at me in disbelief.

"Are you ok?" I asked her, my voice shaking.

"You've blown my mind, if I'm honest." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "I thought you two were over?"

"We were, but..." I shrugged and looked at Harry who looked as awkward as I felt. "I was going to tell you. I just didn't know if there was going to be anything to tell."

Rose turned her head, and looked at Harry as though she was seeing him for the first time. She'd known about our entire affair, so it wasn't really a shock of finding us together. The shock was that I really was having an affair with the actual Harry Styles. There may have been a little hurt I hadn't told her straight away I was seeing him again too.

Shifting uncomfortably under her blue-eyed gaze, I could practically hear Harry wish he had more than just his underpants on and I couldn't help but smile. Rose could be absolutely terrifying — her face would lose all humour and her eyes would almost get bluer and colder. She could do it at will, and usually reserved it for dealing with difficult nightclub guests or for meeting friends' new partners so they knew she was the one they'd deal with if they put a foot out of line. Rose was pissed I'd hidden something from her, but I knew Harry was getting the full 'Look'. I only hoped her assessment of him would be positive, and she wouldn't tell me I was making a mistake.

But then, she turned it on me and my innards shrank. I'd only experienced it once; when I'd told her I was leaving Ibiza to move in with Will, and she'd flat out told me I was making a mistake. This did not bode well for Harry and me.

"He shouldn't be here, Lil. You're so fucking lucky it was me who turned up," Rose shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. "Well, I guess now I know why you didn't tear me to shreds for not being able to spend your birthday with you. Have you been here the entire time?"

"No, we were —" I cleared my throat and tried to ignore how seedy the truth sounded, "—we were in a hotel until yesterday. Harry came here last night."

Hearing his name, he stepped closer to my side and subtly touched my lower back. It was a small gesture, but was enough to remind me what a beautiful few days we'd had together. I hated my best friend being angry and disappointed in me, but I wasn't going to let anyone or anything take away how perfect my birthday had been, all thanks to Harry.

"Ugh!" Rose rolled her eyes, seeing the two of us next to each other. She'd been right about Will being a mistake, so it was hard to stay confident about something who felt so good for me under her disdain. "How has Will not figured out you two are fucking? It's written all over the pair of you."

"I mean, I-I normally have more clothes on." Harry muttered and my eyes widened with fear that Rose was going to punch his lights out.

Instead she laughed loudly, and walked off into the living room to pick up her handbag. "Well, I'd best leave you two to it. I'm single enough without playing third wheel."

"Don't you want to stay and finish your coffee first?" I asked, part of me feeling like if she left I'd never see her again.

"Layla, I feel like I've just drunk 20 espressos," Rose laughed as she touched my arm gently, "but come to mine tonight, I should hopefully have my head around this by then. Ok?"

"Ok."

She ignored Harry completely as we said an awkward goodbye, hugging me half-heartedly before leaving him and I alone. He looked at me and waited for my reaction — our bubble was well and truly burst.

"That was horrible." Head in hand, I sat at the bottom of the stairs. The cold, hard look which amused me so much because it was usually done to other people seemed to be stuck in my mind's vision. She hadn't been joking with me — she was hurt and worried. "I'm sorry you were caught in that."

"Lil," Harry said softly, crouching down in front of me, "I caused that. It should be me apologising. But she'll be fine, baby. I just think she was shocked and a little hurt but once you talk to her properly, she'll understand." He cupped my face and made me look at him. "It will all be ok. Rose won't say a word to Will — that much we do know — and she'll forgive you because she loves you."

"I guess you're right," I sniffed, leaning into his palms further, finding comfort as always in their warmth.

"I'm absolutely right," he kissed the tip of my nose, his smile forming into a smirk. "Now, what I was going to say when I first came down was that you need to come back to bed."

Harry tilted his head and pressed his lips against mine. His kiss was filled with intention, slow but hard, while his hands wandered to the tie on my dressing gown and pulled it loose. While his hot breath trailed along my jaw bone, the cold air hit my skin as my robe was pulled open. Moaning when he nipped my earlobe, my legs parted to his stroking fingers working their way along the inside of my thighs.

"Don't you have to leave soon?" I gasped.

"I have a few hours yet. Besides," Harry whispered in my ear, "there's really nowhere else I'd rather be."

  
Upstairs, back in bed, we devoured each other. Knowing full well that this genuinely was the last time we would be able to be together for a ridiculously long time, I wanted to take in every detail of him: how he tasted, the feel of his skin, and the small whimpers he made into my mouth as I rode him painfully slow.

"Please, baby," he whispered hoarsely, fingers wrapped tightly in my hair holding my face close to his, "don't tease."

Like the previous night when I'd been on my knees for him, Harry's focus was so often on making me lose control that there weren't many chances for me to see him do the same. The splendid view of him on his back beneath me, cheeks flushed red, and beads of sweat beginning to appear on his skin, gave me such a thrill that I struggled not to give him exactly what he was pleading for.

"When you're gone," my voice was barely a whisper as I sat up and continued to rock gently as I looked deep into dark, heavy, lust-filled eyes, "this is how I'm going to picture you, under me and begging for me to let you come."

Head rolling, he let out a whimper and pushed his hips up. I pushed them back down, and sped up the pace of my movements just long enough to give him hope that he was going to get his own way, then stopped again.

When finally he came, his fingers gripped tightly onto my ankles, arms stretched out rigid and straight by his side as I rode him hard and fast. He cried out and swore loudly until his body became limp and he begged me to stop because he had become painfully sensitive. With a giggle, I came to a stop and mentally savoured how delicious and beautiful he looked. Arms up over his head, I watched his chest rise and fall start to slow as his breathing began to return to normal. Eyes drooping closed, locks of hair clinging to his forehead, smile from ear-to-ear in blissful satisfaction, Harry, in the beams of light from the mid morning sun, looked like a work of art. Had I had any talent for painting or been allowed to have photos of him on my phone, I'd have asked to capture how perfect he looked.

Eventually, I slid carefully off his hips and collapsed onto the bed next to him. He turned to look at me with a dopamine-filled smile before shifting so he could kiss my shoulder.

"I quite like it when you're in charge," he grinned, his hand sliding across my stomach as he rolled over to cuddle against my side, "and by the looks of it, so did you."

I giggled with slight embarrassment, "it was fun."

Suddenly, he raised his head to look up at me.

For a little while, nothing was said. We just looked at each other and lay tangled in the sheets. Again, the light from the window lit his face, and his eyes were almost unnatural in their green colour. I was struck by how much I liked his face, and how I could look at it forever. When he broke the eye contact, I realised I hadn't breathed the entire time I'd been looking at him.

Brushing my fingers through Harry's hair, I heard him mumble, "it's getting harder to leave you."

I didn't know how to respond. I knew what he meant, it was getting harder to just keep this as a casual sex arrangement, the statement was loaded. Really, he should not have come to the house. We should have said our goodbyes at the hotel the morning before, and let that be the end of it until next time. But, it was really getting to the point where whatever time we spent together was never enough. I knew that that was what Harry meant, and I agreed fully, but I couldn't tell him that. I couldn't encourage this growing emotional connection which was rapidly forming between us, I couldn't let him think we had more than a good sexual chemistry and the ability to have a decent conversation.

Fingers still stroking through his hair, I pressed my lips to his forehead and let them linger on his skin. His arm tightened around my waist and he pulled me closer to him, any distance between our bodies disappearing.

Pressed together, he kissed me. Hard and hungry as though he was trying to balance out his moment of unreturned vulnerability. With a sharp inhale, Harry shifted to between my legs and took my hands in his, sliding my arms along the bed so he could pin them in place above my head. Using his free hand, he reached between us and stroked his cock, humming as he touched himself in the way he knew best as I watched. Seeing the look of pleasure on the face I admired so much, my hips raised up off the bed with the need to feel him fill me again. It had barely been twenty minutes, but I was already aching, small whimpered begs leaving my mouth until I finally felt him push into me.

The grip on my hands disappeared, sliding his fingers up the back of my neck to bury themselves in my hair while he rested his forehead against mine. I couldn't escape Harry's intense gaze now even if I wanted to, watching intently for my reaction to each hard, rolling, thrust. Already capable of making me feel like he knew what I was thinking, now I was even more convinced he could see just how much I wanted him.

There was a new level of intimacy that thrilled me, though it made me nervous too. Each move we made was close and in time, hot gasping pants meeting in the small space between our open mouths, and noses bumping lightly every time he slid into back into me.

"Faster!" One hand in his hair, and the other gripping the edge of the mattress, I felt the stirrings of a pleasure I was certain I'd never really known before.

Harry smiled and did as I asked, but kept the closeness between us. His eyes widened, wandering where they could see to watch as my face changed. I swore repeatedly as my legs raised and bent, my toes curling as I lingered on the edge. So close, I clung to him and told him not to stop, feeling the tingling heat spread to every inch of me. As he encouraged me to come, telling me to do it for him, that he wanted to watch me come undone around him, I finally toppled over the edge.

Chest rising to meet his as my back arched, I felt a release like no other I'd ever experienced and silently, hazily realised that Harry and I were really making love for the first time.


	31. You’ll Never Walk Alone

**This chapter has a trigger warning for drug use, child neglect, and a brief suggestion of abuse.**

**Layla's Backstory**

The memories are blurry and choppy, the kind where you're not entirely sure if maybe you dreamt it. Childhood memories of being somewhere familiar, with faces you vaguely recall and you know are kind so you trust them. A small hand engulfed by a large, rough one, or a soft wrinkled one that smells of flowery soap, both supporting and guiding as I took stumbling steps through a house I visited twice a year. Each flash of recollection is mixed — sometimes it's Christmas and there's a silver Christmas tree covered in angel hair and bright coloured lights. Sometimes it's summer and I'm wearing white leather sandals with an embroidered sailboat on the front, running ahead to go to the park.

The park memory is clearer. It's the last one, other than the shouting and being dragged out of the house, that I have of visiting my grandparents.

**•**

My mother, Paula James, was twenty when she found out she was pregnant. She had already left home and moved to Liverpool to work. Getting knocked up was not part of the plan. As an only child, she tried to keep the news hidden from her parents for as long as possible, not wanting to disappoint them. When her growing bump could no longer be hidden, she payed them a visit and broke the news. She'd arrived expecting the worst having heard numerous rumours of old school friend being cast aside by their own parents. But to her surprise – though her mother and father were always supportive and loving – they took finding out they were to become grandparents extremely well. They hadn't told her she was ruining her life, and they didn't disown her. She was welcomed home and cared for until I arrived on a Tuesday morning in the same room she was born in.

Once Paula was ready, my grandmother looked after me while she went back to work in the town nearby. However, her home had been Liverpool, so as soon as enough money was saved, and with the help of her parents, we moved back.

Up until the age of eight or nine, I remember life being as simple and carefree as every childhood should be. Watching cartoons, playing with neighbours or school friends, and evening cuddles on the sofa with Mum when she got home from work. It was just my mother and me — I'd never met my father and from the little I knew, he probably didn't know I existed — so we were close, and I'm glad to have memories of her that remind me what happened to her was a tragedy, a tragedy she brought upon herself.

Around that time, everything slowly changed. Paula was suddenly home during the day, and she wasn't going to work anymore. We moved to a smaller flat where I didn't have friends to play with.

The area we moved to was a rough one, notorious in Liverpool for being a place to avoid. There were local heroes who'd managed to get out, to make a name for themselves, and those left behind were proud, but held no desire to be inspired or bettered. The pub nearest to our home was filled with locals who all knew each other, and thankfully the landlord was understanding of a woman in a new area who'd just lost her job and had a child to clothe and feed, so Paula managed to get work behind the bar. Evening cuddles on the sofa stopped, and I spent most nights in the house over the pub being entertained by the landlord's daughter, Julia. By eight o'clock, I'd fall asleep on the sofa and wouldn't wake up until gone midnight when it was time to go home.

My mother was young, clever, and pretty, with an almost obligatory Liverpudlian quick wit though she wasn't from there, so she was soon welcomed into the community. Her boss, Len, and his wife, Polly, would do anything to help us. They'd been her saviour at the time, especially when they realised she'd been skipping meals to make sure I had food in my belly. After that, Polly would regularly turn up to make sure there was stuff in the fridge and cupboard, and we were often at their dinner table before Mum's shift started.

I think, had it not been for them, things would have gotten worse a lot sooner, and yet, that job and the people she met through it were what ultimately killed her.

We were beginning to settle into our new life. I was making friends in a new school, and Paula was making friends of her own. There was still a fairly young clientele that would hang around in the pub, drinking, smoking, and playing snooker while they did dodgy deals that Len turned a blind eye to. I can only imagine what they made of the pretty new barmaid — fresh meat to try their luck with until something new came along. Despite the warnings, my mum was lonely and sick of being a single parent, so she fell for the flattery and began dating one of the lads called Neil.

Neil was the one who introduced my mother to drugs. He really was her undoing. Tall and weedy, he seemed to always have gum in his mouth, chewing constantly. He'd wear awful tracksuits and shell suits, and wore so much aftershave that I could smell he was in the house before I saw him. His dark hair was thick with gel that made his hair look wet, and the only thing I remember him talk about was if he should grow a moustache like the footballer Ian Rush. Even from the first time I first met him, I hated him with a passion I'd never really felt before, and didn't understand what my mum saw in him. Nine-year-old me would have preferred eating an entire bowl of peas than looking at his stupid, ugly face! He made me uncomfortable, and I didn't want him around ruining the little team I imagined Mum and me to be. The feeling of hatred was mutual — it was quickly made clear that I was nothing but an inconvenience and annoyance to him. He just wanted to get laid, snort coke, and not deal with a child who had bad dreams or was bored and wanted to go to the park.

The last visit we took to see my grandparents, I could already tell things were different. Neil was gone and had been replaced with someone who had an actual Ian Rush moustache, but the drugs had become a constant. The trip to see Paula's parents had been encouraged by Len and Polly in hope that she'd get help, but as she was already dabbling in harder things, they had no idea it was too late.

The train journey out to the countryside — one which was usually filled with travel games and looking for various farm animals — was now long and boring. I was just an extra living piece of luggage who had stolen her life. The feeling of inconvenience I'd felt from Neil had spread, and now I felt it from my own mother, too. As a child, I was confused by her coldness and I didn't know what I'd done to deserve it. As an adult, I realise I was in every way irrelevant — she was just focused on her next fix.

Having nothing but happy memories in the big, old house my mother grew up in, I was excited to be there. I clung to my grandfather especially, sitting on his lap while he read the paper to me and listened to the radio. He'd tell me who each song was by and what year it had been released, and I was rewarded with a chocolate lime when I'd told him that the Beatles were from Liverpool. I felt safe and loved with him — like Neil and all the other men Paula had started bringing to the house didn't exist anymore.

Those few days were the last purely happy memories I had for a very long time. I'd been on the floor in the front room, laying on the rug in a sunbeam that showed the dust around me while I read a book I'd been given for my tenth birthday. Legs kicking in the air behind me, I remember thinking that I wanted to stay like that forever: happy and comfortable with my grandparents.  I didn't want to live with my mother anymore. I was sick of spending more time with Len, Polly, and Julia at the pub than with my mum in our own home. There seemed to be a constant stream of people visiting when we were there. It was almost as though the pub had closed so the party moved with Paula to her flat.

I was sick of sleeping under the bed because the loud laughter and shouts would scare me, keeping me awake so I would go to school tired. I was scared someone would come into my room because Paula was passed out and didn't seem capable of protecting me anymore.

However, the moment of serenity in the sunbeam was shattered quickly.

With shouting and banging disturbing the peace, I got up and went to the door. My mother and grandmother were screaming words of hate in each other's face. The soft, gentle Granny I loved was replaced with a hard woman furious to discover that her daughter had been lying to her for the past year and a half. As far as she was concerned, we hadn't moved and Paula was still working in her old job and not in some rundown pub.

"We'd have helped you!" she'd yelled, waving her purse which was, no doubt, now empty and alleviated of any cash there may have been in there. "Where are you even living?"

"None of your fucking business," Paula spat. "Didn't want you thinking I'd fucked up again, did I?"

I felt tears prick at my eyes, wanting to tell them to stop fighting, but before I had the chance, my grandfather was striding toward the kitchen and closing the door behind him so the three raised voices were now muffled. Then quickly, the door flew open again and my mother, who was openly sobbing, rushed towards me, grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the house without giving me the chance to say goodbye or get my book.

We were on our own then. Paula cut off her parents and then a few months later, after money went missing from the till one too many times, Len had no choice but to sack her. Everyone who'd tried to help and support her was slowly being cast aside because she was so focused on having fun. She couldn't see she was spiralling out of control, that her addiction was past 'fun' and was becoming a serious problem that could cause her to lose her child. Or worse.

Through a friend, she managed to find a new job in a nightclub in the city center. I would be palmed off to neighbours, or the parents of my friends from school, even leaving me alone in the flat when she had nobody to ask on the odd occasion. Those nights were the worst. I'd drag my quilt into the living room and sleep on the sofa, using the light of the TV as some sort of comfort, the late night movies and nightscreen acting as company.

Most nights, I was awake and feeding myself breakfast when I'd hear the key in the front door and mum would come stumbling in, obviously having carried on the party somewhere else. That's when I'd get a glimpse of the mother I'd known. She'd see me fending for myself — the child she had chosen to keep and had done so much to keep safe — and would start to cry. I'd be pulled into a hug as she sobbed, and I would hold my breath against the smell of smoke and alcohol, as I clung to the rare moment where my mother showed me affection again.

It was while working at the nightclub that she fell pregnant again. She'd began dating a guy called Ollie, who was a doorman and an all-around nice guy. He'd take me and Mum on days out to the beach or to the zoo, and would make me part of their time together. To him, I was part of the package, and that was something my mother hadn't experienced before. She didn't have to hide me away like some annoyance. Ollie turned out to be the sort of man Paula needed. He helped find her a part-time job in his brother's garage, answering phones and organising bookings, and just generally helping out with administrative work. She'd had a hard time getting clean, but with his support and the knowledge of the life growing inside her, she managed to do better.

For a couple of years, the four of us were sort of like a real family and I felt things were normal again. The cuddles on the sofa were back, and the small seed of hatred I'd grown for my mum faded. She'd let me rest my hand on her growing tummy and feel the kicks, explaining that I was about to get a new best friend, and that I'd need to help look after her.  Older now, I was in secondary school and doing quite well. I had friends, and had a crush on a boy who barely knew I existed. I was pleased that, for a little while, that was my biggest worry. Relieved that the only reason I would be losing sleep was because of a crying baby, and not because of fear.

When Bianca was born, I was instantly obsessed with her. She was so small and red and covered in wrinkles. She was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen, and I instantly wanted to protect her. I'd always be allowed to feed her when I got home from school, and she'd stare up at me with violet eyes that were just starting to gain focus while sucking on the teat of the bottle. I felt like she was sizing me up, and I'd mentally tell her that I would always look after her.

The happiness didn't last though, and when Bianca was a year old, Ollie found out he wasn't her father. He'd been happy to play step-dad to me, and up until I met Terry, he was the only man I considered to be a father-figure, but he wasn't going to do it for two kids. He'd thought he was raising his daughter and had genuinely loved my mother, but she'd deceived him and he couldn't stick around after that. Paula and I were alone, once again, but now there was a baby. Just as I dreaded, Mum fell back in with her old habits.

It was like all the times I'd promised to look after my sister, I'd somehow known what would happen. I became the parent — the one who cooked and cleaned up the mess left from mum's guests the night before. Now a toddler, Bianca slept in my room, often in my bed, so I knew she would be safe. I'd feed and bathe her and change her nappies. My biggest worry would be that if Social Services were called, we would be taken away and separated. For that reason, I made sure we were both clean and presentable. I'd take money from Paula's purse before it went up her nose or in her veins, and I'd buy nappies or baby food.

I did anything to make sure we weren't separated, but in the end, that's exactly what happened.


	32. One

Harry left mid-afternoon. We shared a heated goodbye and he promised we’d see each other the first chance he had when he was back in London, then I got ready to face the music with Rose.

I’d considered leaving it a until the following day, but as we were going out for my birthday, there wasn’t much choice but to clear the air as soon as possible. It wouldn’t be much of a gathering if the hostess and the birthday girl weren’t talking, and of anybody in my life, if we fell out then there wasn’t much point. She was as good as my sister, and I wanted to make sure that she at least knew I was sorry and regretted not telling her the truth.

Having been cooped up for days, I decided to walk. It wasn’t an overly nice day, and I’d regret not driving when I had to walk back home, but I needed the somewhat fresh air to help clear my head. The morning’s events were swirling around in my head, leaping from one thought to another, so I hoped by the time I got to Rose’s, I would have a bit more of a grasp on everything that had happened. I wrapped up in a warm jacket, stuck my headphones in, and stepped out into what was now a dull, grey afternoon.

The intensity of the sex Harry and I had was throwing me. Everything had felt unintentionally different — the way we’d kissed, the way we’d look at each other, the feel of his hand in my hair, and even the climax. It wasn’t strange for us to be so connected — that’s why it was always so good when we had sex together — but it was now one step further. I couldn’t get that hazy thought that we were no longer just having sex out of my head. The thought had floated lazily as I’d watched him spill over the edge with a look on his face that told me it felt different for him, too. His lips had parted and his eyes had widened before fluttering to a close quickly, the sensitivity bringing him to a stop but not pulling out. We’d lain face to face, smiling and forgetting to pretend like we weren’t crazy for each other. For a short time, we’d managed to ignore that what we were doing was terrible and indulged what it would be like if we didn’t have to hide.

  
In fact, by the time I reached Rose’s flat, I was so lost in thought about what had happened with Harry that I almost forgot she might not exactly be overjoyed to see me.

"Oh! Here she is: Lady Casanova," was my warm, loving welcome as she greeted me at the door, arms folded across her chest.

“Hey.” Smiling weakly, I tried for a hug, but she turned away and headed into the kitchen. I decided not to dance around the issue as I followed her. "I should have told you and I'm sorry. Please don't think I did it because I don't trust you or anything like that. I just… I just wanted to see how spending more than one night with him would go."

Nodding her head thoughtfully, she took a bottle of wine from the fridge, pulled out glasses from the cupboard, and poured us both a drink. She handed me mine before coolly asking, "And how did it go?"

"Well… That's a conversation for when you don't want to punch me."

I wanted to tell her how perfect the past few days had been, how Harry had made my birthday so special, and how things had gone after she left. But now I was even more worried she’d tell me what an idiot I was being, and I didn’t want to resent her for being a good friend by ruining how happy Harry had made me.

"You know," she sighed as she took a large gulp of wine and set her drink down before turning back to me, hurt painting her face in a way I rarely ever saw, "I'm hurt that you didn't tell me, Layla, and that might take a couple days to get past, but I get why you did it. Everyone has been in some sort of relationship that other people judge you for — remember Allie? I was terrified to tell you when I was dating her again. Sometimes, you would rather just stay schtum than face that judgment. But you were there for me every time she dumped me and — I mean this one hundred percent — you can always tell me anything, and I will always be there for you."

Tears sprang to my eyes. After such an intense day, the relief that she didn't hate me and that I hadn’t ruined our friendship was overwhelming. Harry had been right — she forgave me because she loved me, but I loved her, too, and I should never have kept it from her. I pulled her into a hug and she continued softly.

"I might try and be a voice of reason, but that’s because I worry about you. I worry about what would happen if Will found out. Harry may be lovely and attentive, but would he stand by you and support you if everything came to light? He's nineteen years old and ridiculously famous. No offence, but would he want to deal with the baggage of being with a thirty year old divorced woman?"

"Believe me, I am fully aware that he wouldn’t," I sighed, stepping back and wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of hand. “It’s just hard not to get swept up in how good things are when we’re alone.”

Rose squeezed my arm in understanding. “I know it is. Sometimes reality is a fucking dick.”

Laughing through tears, I felt the bubble I’d been trying to keep around me well and truly pop. I’d spent my walk lost in what Harry’s and my ‘lovemaking’ could mean, but really, it meant absolutely nothing because it couldn’t mean a thing. I was starting to get notions that we were developing stronger feelings for one another and — thanks to me wanting something more than what my marriage was — I had gone along with it. I’d wanted to stay in the small second of time that was Harry and me in a fancy hotel room, but that was not reality for him, or for me.

Rose was right, as always. Harry was wonderful and made me feel amazing, but he was nineteen years old. He wouldn’t want to handle all the shit that came with publicly dating a divorced woman in her thirties. And truthfully? I didn’t want to deal with what probably came as part of the package of dating someone in a boy band either (not that it was really even up for discussion). I had been a fan of boy bands in the nineties — I’d scribbled over the face of whomever happened to be dating my favourite member. With the age of social media, fans didn’t just keep it to scribbling on a magazine. If my affair with Harry got out, I’d have to retreat to a remote island somewhere and become a recluse because his fans would tear me to shreds.

**•**

I hadn't had the dream for years. I knew what was coming as soon as I found myself sat on the floor in my old living room, but this time it was different. I was dressed in my school clothes that had been worn so many times I could practically smell them in the dream (as usual). This time, I wasn’t a teenager — I was an adult.

Looking at my hand through the play pen, holding the tiny, chubby hand of my little sister, I had flashes of my wedding ring and felt the panic rise in me that I was really living this moment all over again. Bianca was crying, hungry and uncomfortable in the dirty nappy she’d been wearing since the night before, looking at me with watery blue eyes to do something. I was Lala, her big sister who fixed everything. She relied on me more than she did on her mother, but I couldn’t move. My brain was screaming — screaming for me to not sit there like I was broken — but like punching someone in a dream without making contact, my body felt like lead.

My mother was slumped over on the dirty, brown sofa, one leg stretched out to the floor, her face contorted and twisted but completely still, frozen in a struggle. The needle Paula had used lay on the floor where she’d dropped it, and when when staring at her became too much, I’d switch my focus to that.

I couldn't move — I could never move, just sit and watch the nightmare of my mother’s overdose. It wasn’t really a dream, it was a replay of what had happened. Getting up for school, seeing Mum on the sofa, and thinking she was just spaced out watching TV. Putting Bianca in her pen while I tried to tell Paula that she had to give me money so I could buy nappies and food, and realising that she wasn’t just ignoring me.

The dream changed, and Harry was suddenly stood by sofa, inches away from my mother’s corpse. He looked down at her in disgust then turned his green eyes on me. They looked like they had when the light had shone on them in bed. I tried to look away, to escape the feeling of shame and hatred he felt for me.

My eyes flew open, my entire body was rigid, and I was sweating. Will’s face looked down at me with worry as he shook my arm hard to wake me.

"You were having a bad dream," he said, stating the obvious as I bolted upright in a need to break away from the haunted feeling that nightmares bring. Softly, he brushed the hair that clung to my face and asked, "Was it the usual one?"

"Yeah, but I was me now." My voice sounded foreign. The real Liverpudlian accent I'd hid years ago slipping in during my moment of distress always threw me, and I’d shake it off as quick as possible.

Will scooted closer to me and hugged me to him, and I remembered that for all his faults, he was always there to comfort me when childhood came to remind me where I had come from. Before we met, I’d have the same dream practically every night, and I avoided spending the whole night with someone. When I’d told Will about my childhood and about the nightmare, he’d told me it wasn’t a problem. Every time it crept into my sleep, he would sit up with me and talk, make me a hot drink, and do what he could to soothe me — it was the one thing I could rely on him for. Eventually the dream faded away with the further the past got. The more my life changed, it just slowly stopped happening.

"You haven't had one for so long," Will patted my knee before getting up out of bed and grabbing his dressing gown. "Come on, I'll make you a hot chocolate. It'll help you get back to sleep."

My pyjamas were damp with sweat so I changed before following him down. I needed a second alone where I could remind myself that it had not been real. Harry knew nothing about how I grew up. Well, not the real story, anyway — only Will and Rose knew that. Harry hadn't really judged me or looked at me with hatred. I repeated this to myself over and over as I went to join Will in the kitchen.

He yawned at me as I entered the room, his normally perfectly styled hair sticking up in all directions. He looked so boyish and sleepy that he was simply missing a teddy bear to complete the look.

"Thank you," I smiled as he placed my hot, steaming drink on the counter in front of me. “Go back to bed if you want. I'll drink this then be up."

"No," Will shook his head and sat opposite me at the breakfast bar. "I don't like how sad you get when you have this dream. I wish you'd tell me what it was."

I pursed my lips tightly and mirrored his head shaking, "it makes me sick to talk about it every time I try."

"I know."

I'd never been able to tell him the full truth; the details of that day were locked tightly in my head, no matter how much I wanted to unload them. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t unburden myself from the guilt of that being the last time I'd properly seen my sister. I’d been in such a state of shock that I hadn't been able to help or protect her like I’d promised I would. I wanted to share with Will and Rose that I’d sat there for two days before someone called the police because of the baby crying. I wanted to tell them that I hadn’t fought for us not to be separated because I had been convinced I was spoiled — I’d wanted better for her, and knew she wouldn’t remember what had happened. I’d let them take her away to somewhere I didn’t know with the hope that she wouldn’t know about the life she’d been born into. I wanted to lighten the guilty weight I carried around constantly, but I couldn't. My mouth would dry up and the ability to form anything other than a long, painful howl became lost to me. 


	33. Layla

 It had been weeks since I heard from Harry. He was on tour in Australia, so at first, I didn't think much of it. There wasn't anything unusual in him going quiet for a week or two, and with the added time differences, it was nearly expected. But as the weeks went on without so much as a jokey message or meme, I started to feel uneasy. I began to wonder if maybe I hadn't been the only one who'd felt like things had changed and stepped up a gear during our last morning together. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that, at nineteen, Harry had a tiny phobia of commitment and was scared off by what he'd felt. I, then, started thinking that maybe he hadn't felt anything, that it had all come from me, and that he was freaked out by how I'd looked at him.

However, I couldn't show any of my concerns. Rose was already worried I was in too deep, and while I spoke a little about not hearing from him, I kept it to a limit so she didn't think I'd gone insane. My friend was understanding and happy to let me vent, but I could tell she was also waiting for the inevitable, catastrophic ending.

I'd just arrived home from a long, boring brunch with Will's mother, Verity, and could finally loosen my hair from the tight bun it had been in, kick off my heels, and flop down onto the sofa. I'd been neglecting my role as Mrs French, so I was bullied into attending a small get-together to help plan a fundraiser for something or other. As usual, it had been incredibly dull, and as I was being punished for my absence to all the important lunches and events, any idea I'd tried to throw in was ignored. It was nice to be home.

Harry's phone call startled me. I stared at the screen, unsure if I was seeing things for a while until it occurred to me that I needed to answer the call. I took a deep breath and tentatively pressed the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy!"

With his voice slurred and drawn out, I realised he was drunk. Not the kind I had experienced with him before where he was giggly and flirty, where he'd be extremely tactile and look at you with unabashed intensity. Harry was really, really drunk. I could imagine him sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, room spinning as he tried to find my number in his phone. He might have tried to text me but the letters wouldn't have stayed in focus so he decided to call instead.

"Are you okay? How much have you had to drink?" I asked softly.

He exhaled loudly and groaned. "A lot. Too fuckin' much. I'mma feel like shit tomorrow."

Falling silent, I waited for some sort of explanation or excuse for his lack of contact. I didn't want to bring it up, didn't want to give any indication that I was even bothered by it, but I hoped that he at least acknowledged it. Would he use drunken courage to tell me that we were over, and that's why he hadn't contacted me? He breathed loudly on the other end of the line and I started to think that maybe he'd actually fallen asleep until he blurted out, "I love you!"

"Excuse me?"

"Layla, I love you!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said." I tried to suppress the rising panic by pinching the bridge of my nose. Harry was drunk — he probably had no idea what he was saying, and would probably wake up in the morning with a stinging hangover and mortified by his drunk dial.

"Harry, love, you should try get some sleep," I soothed. I heard him scoff and mutter that I didn't get it. "You should! You're obviously drunk, and... and... Maybe you need to get laid?"

"I had sex tonight," he muttered quietly, thoroughly taking the wind out of my sails. "Sorry."

"Oh," was all I managed. Picturing him in bed with some faceless body, arms and legs intertwined as he moved in her, was like a punch to the stomach. I knew it was likely he was seeing other people, but his straight up telling me he'd just fucked someone else made my cheeks burn with jealousy.

"I was hoping it would stop me from thinking of you, but it just made everything worse." He sounded sad and lonely, like someone who was lost. "I just, I dunno, I've not been able to stop thinking of how it was over your birthday, and I think I love you."

"You don't love me, Harry. You're drunk," I laughed, nervously. "You don't even know me! We had a few amazing days together, that's all it was! You don't know enough about me to lo—"

"I know you enough, Lil. I know you a whole lot better than _he_ does anyway."

Clamping my mouth shut, I didn't know how to come back from that. It wasn't exactly true. Will probably knew plenty more about me than Harry did — my upbringing being just one thing — but they knew different parts of me. Harry had no idea about the nightmares or the crippling guilt I felt over letting my sister and I get split up, and I couldn't imagine ever being able to tell him. Especially after his appearances in my nightmares, which had been almost nightly over the previous few weeks.

"I wrote a song about you," he said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

Once again, all I could manage was, "oh."

"Funny thing is, I wrote it as a joke at first, y'know? Every time I thought of you I'd get the song 'Layla' stuck in my head, and I found out that's about an affair, too. Did you know that, Lil?"

"Eric Clapton's affair with Pattie Boyd while she was married to George Harrison. My mum was a big Clapton fan." Laughing quietly, I remembered my mother singing along to 'I Shot the Sheriff,' her voice switching from the high parts to the low ones, making me giggle until my sides ached. "I narrowly escaped being called Pattie."

"Well, I wrote about us, like he did. I'm no Clapton, and the song is no 'Layla' but," he sighed loudly and continued liked this was the first time he was admitting it to himself, "it's how I feel about you."

I nodded then remembered he couldn't see me so I muttered, "I'd like to hear it."

"It's gonna be on the album. I know you probably won't listen to it."

"I will. I promise I will."

"Do you love me?" he whispered.

It was my turn to sigh as my stomach knotted tightly. I'd had a lot of time to assess how I felt about Harry, weeks of going over and over it. If the situation was different, I could imagine myself falling in love with him. He was easy to fall in love with. He was good looking, charming, intelligent, interesting, funny, and kind. All that on top of being successful made a killer combination. But the fact remained that I was married.

Rose had rightfully pointed out that even if I left Will, Harry wouldn't be able to handle the realities of being with a thirty year old divorcee. What was really happening was he was confusing lust, passion, and infatuation with love.

I cared deeply for Harry, but I simply I couldn't fall in love with him even if I wanted to.

"I'm married, Harry."

"That's not what I asked, Lil." Frustration was evident in his voice. This wasn't how he'd expected the conversation to go. His intoxicated brain had obviously been convinced this was a great idea, so why wasn't I declaring my love for him in return? "Do you love me?"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't love you, not like that, anyway."

On the other end of the line, Harry exhaled and whispered harshly, "fuck!"

Awkwardness ensued. A long, drawn out silence vibrated with things we both wanted to say. I kept opening my mouth to tell him that if things were different, my feelings probably would be, too, but nothing came out.

"Bye, Lil."

And then he hung up.

**•**

Searching around the crowded bar for somewhere to sit, I spotted Rose and her new girlfriend, Dionne, sat in a booth throwing back a shot. I'd thought I was early, but judging by the empty glasses next to them, they were on the second round and I was going to have to play catch up.

"I didn't know it was that kind of night." Laughing, I approached the table, and watched as they pulled faces while trying to greet me at the same time.

Dionne was beautiful. Her dark skin and tall frame made her look like a model. She was a DJ, and while she and Rose worked the same events often and flirted frequently, the timing had never been right. It had taken them a disgustingly long amount of time to finally hook up, but Rose was head over heels, and from Dionne's smile toward my best friend, the feeling was mutual. They'd only been together a month, but they were sickeningly in love, which made me equally jealous and overjoyed for them.

"Hello you! It's always that kind of night!" Rose, already tipsy, hugged me and thrust a shot glass into my hand. "I got you this, so catch up."

Doing as I was told, I threw it back and felt my face contort as the thick, aniseed drink burned my throat and made my stomach burn.

"How did the job interview go?" Dionne asked, chuckling at my facial expressions.

The get-together was a celebration. Without Will's knowledge, I had been offered a job working with a wedding planning business. Celia, who owned the company, had put together the event I had tried to help plan when Harry had rang weeks ago. Despite having been shot down by the other ladies, she'd liked my suggestions, and during the black tie dinner, she'd asked if I'd consider working for her. It was a receptionist position mainly, but all her staff covered reception while also doing events. I'd been reluctant, but Harry's silence triggered me to do something with my life to distract me. I hadn't thought I'd even get the job — I had no experience and hadn't worked in years — but after showing her photos of the parties and dinners I'd put together, Celia had offered me a few hours to begin with, right there in the interview.

I'd called the girls as I left, a ginormous spring in my step. Angels that they were, they were more than willing to celebrate my interview. Because I have an occasional fondness for drama, I purposefully left out that I already had the job.

"Well," I sucked on the straw and let my mouth fill with the cold taste of blueberry vodka and lemonade, truly building up the suspense, "I got the job! I start in the new year!"

Rose's arms tightened around my neck as she squealed loudly in my ear. "YES! Okay! That's it! This is definitely one of those nights. You have a new job and it's nearly Christmas. We're celebrating!"

We drank. A lot.

By ten, I was demanding we went somewhere to dance. Bartering, offering to pay for the taxi — anything to get them to agree, though I knew they probably wanted to go home and have drunk sex. I hadn't had this much fun since... Well, I hadn't had any fun in a while, and I was determined not to let the party end early.

Finally, Rose agreed. She normally worked Fridays, so this was a rare treat for her to be one of the drunk people, instead of dealing with their shit.

"There's a great club near Covent Garden. Let's go there," Dionne suggested, getting her phone out to call a cab. "They have a few different rooms with different music in each one."

Agreeing that it sounded like fun, we finished our drinks and went to wait outside for the taxi to turn up. The air was refreshing but it hit my drunken state like a tonne of bricks. Blearily, I looked over to Rose who was staring at her phone with a frown. She was turning red and suddenly, I was worried.

"What's the matter?" I slurred, reaching for her shoulder. "Are you..."

Rose snatched her phone from my view but it was too late, I'd seen it.

A Facebook status by her friend saying she'd seen Harry Styles in a restaurant in London with some supermodel.

"Let me see it," I tried to ask calmly, but my voice was shaking and there were tears forming in my eyes. Dionne watched with confusion as I suddenly demanded to see her girlfriend's phone.

"Taxi, ladies?" A thick, cockney accent shouted from a black cab which had just pulled up next to us.

Rose rushed away and practically dived into the cab, making sure that Dionne was between us. Knowing I wouldn't wrestle her to the floor if someone else was there, I had no choice but to seethe with rage in silence.

My heart was racing as quick as my mind. I wished desperately that I wasn't drunk so I could form my thoughts clearer, but I also wanted to be drunker so I wouldn't give two fucks about Harry and some model. I hated him, I hated her, but I mostly hated myself for caring, for feeling jealous, for not seeing this coming, and for getting involved with the lanky prick to begin with.

Outside the club, Rose told Dionne to go in ahead and we'd follow her. She reluctantly agreed and left us alone. It confirmed to me what I had hoped: Rose hadn't told Dee about my affair.

"Are you okay?" Afraid I'd burst into tears, I simply shook my head. "I didn't want you to see that, I was going to tell you tomorrow. I'm so sorry, Lil. That's a shitty move and I expected better than that from him."

"Why? I should have expected it. He hasn't spoken to me in weeks. Of course he would eventually be dating someone a thousand times better than me." I carefully dabbed at my eyes to save ruining my makeup. "Maybe the 'I love you' was his way of saying 'this has been fun, but I'm about to start dating a ten foot tall, mega rich, younger, thinner, and less married model.'"

"Please don't think like that. You're gorgeous, and Harry thought so, too, or he wouldn't have gotten involved with you, twice!"

"A notch on his bedpost," I sneered, rolling my eyes.

"Bullshit!" Rose waved her hand dismissively. "if that was the case, then he would have fucked you and you'd never have heard from him again."

"You mean like when I didn't hear from him until he rocked up to my party and gave some bullshit excuse about thinking my marriage was suddenly healed after I'd slept with him." I wanted a drink — in fact, I wanted several large drinks. "Fuck it! Fuck him! If that's how it ends, then so be it. I'm not going to let him ruin my night."

"Will you be okay?" Rose stroked my arm and looked concerned, worried that the anger behind my words would lead to me ending up in some bar brawl.

"I'll be fine." The wave of sadness washed over me once more. "I've been through worse, and I'll be damned if I'll let him get the better of me."


	34. Power & Control

Two things happened.

I told Will about the job.

He found out about the tattoo.

What followed was an almighty row unlike any we’d ever had before, becoming almost physical. Normally, we didn’t fight. We usually just had an intense conversation then dished out long periods of the silent treatment. This was a full scale shouting match over me going against his instructions and getting a job. He’d told me I was to tell Celia that I couldn’t take the job, that I was to call her first thing on Monday and tell her thanks but no thanks. Once upon a time, I’d have folded and agreed — anything for an easier life — but the rage from seeing Harry with someone else was still fuelling me.

Trying to stay calm, I lowered my voice and spoke each word clearly and slowly. “I am not turning it down.”

Will was furious, his mouth a thin line and his neck red. While I wasn’t backing down, I also wasn’t quite ready to cross the line. That was, until he followed me upstairs and refused to leave while I changed so he could keep his barrage of insistence. I’d kept my back hidden away him, pulling off my strappy vest top and standing in my bra as he ranted on.

Suddenly, he stopped, and I realised he was looking at the reflection in the mirrored chest of drawers, directly at the tattoo I’d gotten away with hiding for so long.

Pointing his finger, he hissed, “What is that?” Moving towards me quickly before I had the chance to quickly cover the anchor with a shirt, he grabbed my arm. “Did you—” He turned me around and I could practically hear the fury rise in him, bubbling up until he shouted close my ear, “—DID YOU GET A FUCKING TATTOO?”

I flinched and pulled away from his pinching grip, my bicep red and aching, while I waited for whatever was coming next. As usual, he started spewing names and vitriol about what a trashy whore I was and that all the money in the world would never cover or wash away the scum from my veins. He came close, his face in mine, and I tried to remain stoic as he screamed in my face.

“ONCE THE DAUGHTER OF A SMACKHEAD, ALWAYS THE DAUGHTER OF A SMACKHEAD!”

He’d always go there — it was my Achilles heel and he knew it. I had spent my entire adult life so far trying to get away from my upbringing; I dropped the Scouse accent as soon as I left Liverpool. I was in a constant internal struggle that those I was close with would abandon and leave me. I was terrified that something would happen and I would end up like my mother. Will knew this. I’d confessed it all to him, and while he was surprisingly understanding, he also didn’t hesitate to throw it in my face when we argued. That was why I never crossed the line, why I always backed down. He didn’t even need to raise his voice. All he had to do was say something about everything I was terrified about, and he knew I’d buckle and cry. He’d win, and I would spend the rest of the night trying to talk myself down from a crippling panic attack.

This time, however, I refused to give him the satisfaction. For the first time, I felt anger at myself for being so pathetic and always so easy to give in. I’d exposed my fears to Will and this was how he treated me. I let a small part of me trust Harry and he’d trampled over it. Part of my determination to get my own life was now going to include standing up to Will, to not let him psychologically batter me with things I couldn’t deny. I was going to grow a thicker skin and defend myself.

My own anger boiled up and I heard myself telling Will to fuck off. At first he was stunned, blinking at me as he tried to work out what I had really said, because there was no way I could have possibly just told him to fuck off. Eye to eye, I swore I saw a weird flicker of pride at me for answering back, but it was gone before I could catch it, and then we both began shouting. We threw as many low blows as possible, poison coloured the air, and I let out all the hate I’d been sitting on for years. I told him he was a bully, that I suspected him of having some sort of Norman Bates obsession with his mother, and that I was sick of being his pet.

As I threw on my shirt and stuffed my bare feet into trainers, I told him that I was taking the job and he’d have to like it or lump it because I wasn’t just going to do as I was told anymore. He tried to grab my arm again, yanking me back to stop me from leaving the bedroom, but I turned around and with all my might, I pushed him away. He stumbled back, shock on his face as his heel hit the wooden leg of the bed with a painful thud.

“Fuck!” Roaring through gritted teeth, he let out a grunt and sat on the bed.

He rubbed his heel and I moved closer to the door. We stared at each other in disbelief. I was shocked I’d truly had the strength to stand up for myself, and he was shocked as he realised had I not pushed him away, he’d have really hurt me. The mood in the room was tense, but it was a different sort of tenseness compared to only minutes before. Neither of us were angry anymore — we were just both so stunned by the level we despised each other. Dislike had run between us since we’d gone to dinner at The Ivy. We’d been patching any leaks, but now the dam had burst and hatred flowed freely.

Mumbling, I placed my hand on the painful throbbing where he’d grabbed me, and fought against the weakness in my knees, “I’m going to Rose’s.”

Open-mouthed, Will looked like he was going to try stop me, but instead he just nodded, and I left.

I played the car radio loud to distract me from crying. I didn’t head to Rose’s straight away like I’d said. She was at work, but even if she’d been home, I didn’t want her to see as I dealt with what had just happened. So I drove around aimlessly in the rain until the shock faded.

When I felt the odd numbness that shock brings start to slip away, and the weight in my stomach start to travel up my chest ready to emerge as a sob, I drove to her flat. I could let myself in — I had a key and she wouldn’t mind, but I couldn’t find the will to move from my seat. Instead, I turned the engine off so the only light was just a faint orange glow from the lamppost overhead, and the only sound was rain hammering the car. It would be hours before Rose got home, and though I didn’t want to break down in front of her, I also didn’t want to sit in her flat by myself.

I was getting cold, wearing only leggings, a shirt, and a hoodie. My sockless toes were starting to feel numb. Sense in the distance told me to get out of the car, go inside, take a shower, and try sleep before Rose got home. Once I slept, I’d be able to see things clearer and remind myself that I hadn’t been in the wrong. Will and I had been fighting because I wanted to get some sort of life back outside of charity lunches and looking forward to the odd romp with my lover.

My stomach twinged as I thought of Harry, and I realised he was the reason I was struggling to find somewhere to go. Sat outside the safest place I had, I didn’t want to go in because all I wanted was the person I was furious with. His actions had hurt me, and even as I longed for him, I felt sick when I remembered those pictures of him having dinner with someone so… unlike me.

With a frustrated groan, I grabbed my phone from my bag and searched for who I knew was the last person I should call. He probably wouldn’t even answer — he’d changed his number and I was certain I probably hadn’t been meant to get his new one, but Harry was the only person I wanted to see.

It rang and rang and rang. Picturing him staring aghast at his phone, I was about to give up when the rings fell silent and after a pause, I heard Harry answer, “Layla?”

My free hand gripped the wheel, knuckles turning white while I tried to form words. Hearing him say my name always threw me. I’d heard him say it in so many tones, from moaning it in ecstasy to groaning it in anger, but the way he’d said it then was new and I couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. As if he’d been waiting for my call and now, he was finally having to face the music.

“Hi,” I breathed, “Can you... Can you talk?”

Harry paused again, and I wondered if he was with her. If maybe he’d been in bed with her and he’d taken so long to answer because he’d had to get up and leave the room. Telling her as she stretched her long limbs and asked him to come back to bed that he had to answer the call, then he’d be back to do all the things he’d done with me. The images I’d been torturing myself with in the week since I’d found out about them spooled past my vision across the windscreen like some nightmarish drive-in, and I almost hung up.

“Of course, I just got home.” As if realising what the question had implied, he added quickly, “I’m alone.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do or what I wanted. I’d remained strong in Will’s attack, but now the words of what a piece of shit I’d always be were ringing in my head, and I was slowly convincing myself that Harry didn’t want to talk to me. He was waiting until it was polite to say he had to go, that it was late and he had to be up early, that he had another call, or that his house was on fire.

“Did you want to meet?” He spoke so quietly, and my thoughts were so loud, I almost missed his question. “You can come here? Or I can book—”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“No, I mean, I want to meet you. But I don’t want to go anywhere. I can’t risk being seen and I… I left the house in a hurry.”

Not pushing for an explanation, Harry gave me he information and directions to some building his record company owned. Like some clandestine, mafia boss meeting, we could meet in the car park and talk in my car or his. Either way, we wouldn’t be disturbed. Telling him I’d make my way there straight away, I hung up and silently thanked that he’d understood what I needed.

I didn’t want to have sex. I wanted to have his comfort and to talk. Had he meant it when he said he loved me? Or had the hangover he had the next morning been accompanied by mortification over his drunk dial? Did him being with someone now mean we were over? I’d flown off the handle when I’d found out, but I was married. I didn’t have the right to say he couldn’t be with someone. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep seeing each other, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop either.

 


	35. I Wanna Be Adored

Harry was already there when I pulled into the car park. His car and mine were the only ones there, and as I stepped out into the pelting rain, I watched the large metal gates slowly close so we'd stay the only ones. Pulling my hood up, I ran around my Mini and jumped into Harry's Range Rover. It had taken all of five seconds to move from one car to the other and I was already soaked. I looked at Harry who had obviously been out for the evening, and I felt like an ugly troll in comparison.

He didn't say anything at first, just twisted in his seat and watched while I wiped the drops of rain off the tip of my nose. I realised after I'd gotten settled that he'd already set the scene. 'Layla' played quietly on the radio, and it dawned on me that he hadn't forgotten anything about the last time we spoke. He had intentionally frozen me out.

"I prefer 'Wonderful Tonight,'" I smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

I must have looked like shit because he suddenly leaned forward, elbow resting on the wheel while his other arm went to the back of my seat. "What did he do to you?"

Shame-faced, I stared into my hands and noted that I needed to repaint my nails before I started work. The red on them was chipped and I felt that was a perfect metaphor for Harry and I: a beautiful colour but chipped. We could try painting over it, but the chips would leave visible lines.

"Lil?" Harry pressed.

"It was... It was nothing," I shrugged. "We fought, that's all."

"Did—did he hurt you?" His voice was strangled. I looked up at him and saw the restraint he was struggling to keep.

"No." Slowly shaking my head, I remembered the throbbing in my arm and how hard I'd pushed Will away. "It was pretty bad though, from both sides."

I sniffed, and Harry placed his hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair. Closing my eyes and leaning back against his warm palm, I felt tears roll down my cheeks. I hadn't wanted to cry; in fact, I was convinced I wouldn't because I'd been so emotionless in my own car, sat outside Rose's. But I hadn't anticipated what would happen when I felt him touch me. The evening had shaken up a lot of emotions from my past, and Harry being gentle and kind with me was everything I needed to ease the pain.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to mine?" he asked softly. "We can just talk, and you can dry off."

I shook my head, knowing that if I spoke, I'd say yes. I wanted nothing more than to go to his home, to climb into his bed, to feel his warm, naked body against mine. It had been months since my birthday, and I had spent the entire time longing for the safety and comfort I felt when I was with Harry. It was taking the entirety of my self-control not to let him take me to his house and surround me in the comfort again, no matter how temporary it may be.

"Okay, okay. We can just stay here until you feel better."

We stayed like that for a short while, him stroking my hair and occasionally wiping my tears while I cried. Not that I was really crying. I remained stony faced while tears streamed down my face and my shoulders shook. Eventually, I rolled my head around so my cheek rested on the underside of his wrist, and I looked at him with watery vision.

"Is it serious? With... Her?"

Harry blinked at me, unsure how to reply when I was in such an emotionally vulnerable state. I'd find out if he lied, but I could be reduced to to a sobbing wreck if he was honest. His hesitation alone told me it wasn't just two close friends having dinner. This wasn't a baseless rumour.

"It's not exactly serious, but it's not, not serious," he winced at his own bundled reply, pulling his touch away from me as though he'd just remembered he couldn't do that anymore. She wouldn't like it.

"Okay," I exhaled. I'd held onto some hope that it had been a misunderstanding, and while I'd been furious, I also knew that it didn't necessarily mean the end of us. But the way he removed himself, I guessed we were done. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you."

As I turned to open the door and get out, Harry reached out and touched my arm to stop me. I froze as his fingers touched where Will had grabbed me, and I prayed he didn't press harder because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from wincing.

"Don't go, not yet. I've missed you."

Letting go of the handle, I leaned back in my seat. "I've missed you, too."

'Layla' had finished, and was replaced with a Stone Roses song about wanting to be adored. I wasn't sure if it was a playlist he'd made or one he'd chosen, but it felt like each song was directly aimed at me. I turned my gaze to Harry. He was peering at me in the dimly lit car, and I wished my life was different. I wished we were the same age and I was single. I hated how complicated everything was because as I looked at him, I couldn't imagine my life without him in it.

Harry must have picked up on that, because he suddenly leaned forward, moving so we were closer than close and his face was inches from mine. Reaching up to cup my jaw, he sighed, "I should have told you."

Nodding, I swallowed down the fresh need to cry forming in my throat. "Can't really be mad, can I? Who's the married one here?"

"Don't remind me," he laughed sadly, a quick expulsion of air leaving his mouth in bitterness.

His eyes drifted over my face, and I could practically see the cogs turning in his mind. He held his breath and tried to decide if he should say what he wanted to, what seemed to be looping in his head to the point of distraction. When finally he exhaled, he licked his lips, and spoke. "He doesn't deserve you, Layla."

I tried to turn away from his words. It had been a hard night and I didn't want to be confronted with that level of truth. He held my head in place so I had no choice but to hear him. "I mean it. I don't know why you think the way he treats you is okay, but it isn't."

"Harry, stop it." Weakly, I tried to push him away, but I had no strength and no fight left so he remained unmoved.

"I know you don't want to be with me, and I get it. But you should be with someone better than him. He's a bully, and the way he talks to you and about you makes me feel physically sick."

"You think I don't want to be with you?"

Shrugging a shoulder, Harry's expression challenged me to say otherwise, which I couldn't do, and wouldn't allow myself to do.

So I kissed him. I kissed him hard and hungrily until he was kissing me back with equal vigour. Muffled moans and gasping breaths filled the car, and I held tightly to the lapels of his navy peacoat with as tight a grip as I was holding onto the last of my hope. We kissed in the dim light like it was the last time we'd be together, revealing all our cards, knowing that it didn't matter because the game was over.

He pulled away briefly, reaching behind him and sliding back as he pushed his seat away from the steering wheel. Pulling me with him, he sat back in his chair and waited for me to straddle him comfortably before kissing me again.

"I meant what I said," Harry murmured against my lips, hot palms slipping under my clothes to run up my back and unhook my bra. "I love you."

"Harry, do—"

He silenced me with his kiss, and I let him. I wouldn't tell him I loved him back, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant hearing him say it. Eyes closed, I pictured what I hadn't been allowing myself to: cooking dinner together, going out in public, spending days in bed and not feeling guilty. I pictured what it would be like to fall in love with him and feel how I'd felt in our bubble all of the time. It wouldn't be perfect — it would be hard, but I wanted him and the happiness he gave me.

Reaching down between us, I started to unbutton his jeans, my fingers stroking the silky soft skin of his shaft as I freed it. Harry moaned into my mouth as I tightened my grip and worked his cock with long, slow strokes. Swearing, he pushed at my hips until I kicked off my shoes and half-stood up so he could help remove my leggings and underwear.

We both held our breath as I lowered down onto him, the sensation of him filling me feeling as sweet as ever, the stretch nearly enough to send me to dizzying heights of pleasure.

"You're so beautiful, Lil," he whispered with shaky breath, stroking my cheek and raising his hips so we fully connected.

Only an hour before I'd felt numb, but now every inch of me was buzzing. I felt alive from head to toe. I pressed my forehead to his and wrapped my arm around the back of his neck, instantly feeling the closeness to him I needed.

The windows around us steamed and fogged with condensation, and rain hammered the roof overhead. His car rocked gently with our rhythm, and would anyone see it, there'd be no doubt what was taking place inside. I didn't care. I was lost in Harry, and enveloped in him as he whispered again that he loved me.

"Leave him," he muttered, breath ragged as he approached his climax. "Leave him and be with me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. I love you."

Burying my face in his neck, my reply was a muffled whisper. "Me, too."

His hold around my waist tightened. He turned his head so his mouth was close to my ear and repeated, "leave him."

Sitting back up, I looked down at him. Bathed in a strip of faint, soft orange from the only light in the car park, his lips were parted as he rolled his hips under me. There were creases in his brow, and a pleading desperation in his eye that I didn't know was from either his need to come, or for my answer.

"Okay."

"Lil?"

"Okay. I'll leave him."

•

Rose wasn't home when I let myself into her flat. She'd replied to my message asking to stay at hers that she was nearly about to leave and would be back at around three. It was half-two when I got in, so I headed straight to the shower to wash away all traces of Harry off me.

We'd moved to the back seat and laid together with his coat covering my legs. He played me the song he wrote for me, and we discussed a little about how I'd leave Will. I felt butterflies in my stomach as he offered to let me stay at his house while I looked for a place of my own, but I politely declined and said I'd stay with Rose. I couldn't believe we were talking seriously about me leaving my husband to be with him. It felt surreal, but I lowered my guard and allowed myself to imagine it really happening.

He'd walked me to my car, giggling as the rain soaked him but didn't rush to get back to shelter. He leant me back against the closed door and kissed me, muttering that I needed a bigger hood so he could fit his head in too. We stood there in the drenching rain, kissing and ignoring the cold until the fabric of my hoodie was wet through and I started to shiver. Then, he'd reluctantly let go of me and let me get into the driver's seat.

"Sure you don't want to come to mine?" Harry smiled temptingly, half inside the car, dripping water on my legs from his hair. "We could have a nice, hot shower and warm up in bed."

Wiping droplets from his forehead with my fingertips, I sighed. "That's hugely tempting, but the old rules apply still. For now."

The 'for now' made us both grin, excited that I could be going to his house whenever I wanted very soon. Kissing me one last time, he said goodbye and watched as I drove out of the car park through the reopened metal gates.


	36. Sheets

Starting work distracted me from my decision for a couple of days. Will had expected me to come home apologetic and agreeing that I shouldn't take the new job, telling him that he was right. Instead, I came home and started choosing what to wear for my first day, which resulted in the usual silent treatment. Normally, I'd have been upset and eager to end his silence, to make everything better, but with the knowledge I wouldn't be dealing with his tantrums for much longer, I let him get on with it. I moved my things up into the bedroom at the top of the house, and made it known that there was nothing he could say that would hurt me. Having shown his entire hand, there was nothing left in reserve that would break me.

Until I saw Harry had blocked my number.

After I'd driven away from him, the messages back and forth were thick and fast. He even sent a bouquet of pink roses to my work on the first day, wishing me luck. I'd had to lie and say they were from Will, which caused my new colleagues to declare that my husband was a sweetheart, oohing and ahhing as I hid the card signed 'H' . We'd spoken on the phone that evening so I could thank him, and everything seemed to be alright. But then he went silent again, my messages going unread, until I figured out that he wasn't even getting them anymore.

I felt destroyed. My heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces, and once again, I was left alone. The nightmares began again, waking up each night in a pool of sweat with the lingering feel of a small hand in mine and the look of disgust at the person I truly was in Harry's eyes. I'd always try wake up before he appeared. He hadn't really been there that day so he wasn't truly part of the memory. But, night after night, I was tortured by his revulsion — a revulsion I was now fully convinced he truly felt for me.

The overwhelming sadness I felt was starting consume me, Harry's rejection having ripped out my heart in a way I'd never expected it to. I'd been so wary of how much I liked him, and he'd lowered my guard so I was as comfortable with him as I'd only ever been with Rose. I had genuinely felt safe with him. He'd told me he loved me, and had me thinking I possibly loved him, too, but it was all a lie. One big, fat, fucking lie. Harry Styles wasn't who I'd thought he was when I first met him — a serial womaniser. He was far, far worse. He'd played with my feelings and had enjoyed every second.

What made my body break into cold sweats was realising that Harry was never with me because he wanted to be with me; he was with me because he was fascinated by the mess of my marriage. He'd had a lot to say about Will and the way he treated me the last time we'd been together, talking about hearing him say terrible things about me. I'd believed him and thought he was genuinely looking out for me. For Harry, my marriage was the car wreck at the side of the road that people were watching with interest. He had just gone one step further and gotten into the car with us for a closer look.

Apart from going to work, I hid myself away for months, ignoring calls and messages from friends to go out for lunch or dinner. I would even make up excuses to not see Rose. She was loved up and happy with Dionne, I was not going to be the person to bring a depressing cloud around them. I'd thought to myself that friends were like family but the truth was that for those who have normal, loving families they don't need to have friends as replacement family members. Rose didn't need me as much now because she had Dionne. She'd never say that or even think it, but I knew it was true. Will was... well, Will, and he didn't even seem to care that we were practically living separate lives. He actually seemed to be glad of the fact! Everyone else? They just knew the me I presented to them.

I had no one. I'd forgotten what that was like, but I'd known it before Rose and Will were in my life and I'd coped. It was hard, but I would learn to cope again.

•

Will and I had been in separate rooms for a couple of months, and surprisingly it seemed to be working for both of us. All pretence that our wedded life was a happy one was dropped, and for some unknown reason it helped, as though no longer living a lie had set us both free a little. I still played my role in public, and we agreed that Verity wasn't to know about my job, but behind closed doors, we were just two people who lived together.

I hoped, however, that we could fix things, that maybe the lack of pressure would rekindle the love we'd once shared, because I knew I'd been happy with him once. He seemed more like the old Will, the one I'd fallen in love with, and I liked it. I knew we'd long fallen out of love, but I held a small hope that maybe, just maybe, with time, we could fall in love again.

In an attempt to try, I decided to stop by his office one day after work and see if he wanted to go to lunch. Walking into the small reception area, I waved at Maggie, the receptionist, and headed straight down the long corridor to Will's office. I was about to knock when the door suddenly opened, and I came face-to-face with a very startled Mia.

"Oh! Hello!" I smiled, looking to see if Terry was around, too. "It's been a while."

Blinking at me, stunned, she lunged forward and hugged me, kissing both cheeks. "Layla! What a nice surprise. It's been too long. What are you doing here?"

Will appeared at the mention of my name, trying desperately not to look shifty as he ran his fingers through his hair. They exchanged a look, and the penny dropped. Or at least, my first suspicions arose.

"I thought I'd see if my husband fancied getting some lunch." Smiling sweetly, I walked into the room and looked around for any telltale signs of office sex. The desk was still tidy, and the cushions I'd bought for leather couch seemed to be in place. There was no scent in the air either, and no knickers hanging on the corner of the computer screen. "Or did you beat me to it, Miss Daniels?"

The pair exchanged another look and I waited patiently for who would be the first person to lie straight to my face. Naturally, it was Will.

"Terry, uh, Terry was meant to be taking Mia for lunch, but he had to go deal with a supplier last minute." Mia nodded in enthusiastic agreement as my husband approached me, the corners of his mouth dropping down to look sad. "I'm sorry, Lil."

After that, it seemed to be hint after hint that something was happening behind my back. My depression was lifting and the fog beginning to clear. I was no longer blinded by my own sadness and could see all the things that had been right under my nose. They'd always been close, practically growing up like brother and sister. I had no way of proving it, but the more I thought about it, the more logical it became that I wasn't the only one playing away from our marriage.

A lot of things were beginning to make sense, and I started to question everything. Like Mia's tantrum at the golf course when Will was being oddly affectionate. After Harry had told me he didn't know why she'd left the game in a huff, I'd thought maybe she was sulking from the lack of attention from him. We hadn't been able to find them when the two of us drove back up to the clubhouse. I'd been so consumed with Harry and my jealousy that Mia had been trying to flirt with him that I hadn't considered she was jealous because Will was showing me affection. In fact, had he been showing me attention to make her jealous because he was more worried about Harry and her than Harry and me?

It made my brain ache. It was messy and added to my thoughts that I couldn't rely on anyone. Terry would be furious, but he would always side with Mia.

But then I wondered if maybe Terry actually knew already? He'd been so angry the day I came home from Ibiza, and had been pretty insistent that Will spend time with his wife. Emphasis on wife. Perhaps my early arrival had interrupted a tense conversation where Terry was warning my husband to stay away from his daughter. That anger had passed though, and the three of them went back to being as thick as thieves. They'd left me at the premiere only a couple of weeks later, which made me realise that was probably a case of Will leaving to spend the night with Mia, and Terry had covered for them.

I hated to think that he would betray me. I loved him like a father and had thought he looked at me like a daughter. It broke my heart worse than knowing Will was having an affair. In fact, I didn't care about that at all, not really. I wanted to find out the truth, so I couldn't help but find myself behaving and acting like a jealous wife, but really I just wanted to know for certain and end the charade that everything was normal. Once I had my proof and confirmation that my husband and a woman I thought of as a friend were sleeping together, I'd be able to work out what I needed to do. Until I had solid proof, however, I decided to let things go unmentioned.

My new job and rediscovered independence was setting a ball in motion that made me less fearful of being without Will. I still had everything to lose, but there was now a glimmer that maybe I had a whole new world to gain. I was being given more responsibility and working more hours. I loved the satisfying stress that came with helping a bride on her big day and loved the people I worked with.

Best of all, by mid-April, the nightmares stopped and the look of hatred in Harry's eyes started to fade.


	37. Wicked Games

"Thank you so much for doing this," I said as I reached for Rose's hand and squeezed tightly. "I honestly don't think I would be able to do this if you weren't here."

The two of us trailed behind Will, Terry, and Mia as we walked down the starkly-lit, breeze-blocked corridor. Will's voice echoed loudly off the walls while he barked into his phone, demanding that something very important be fixed or else. Whether there was actually anybody on the other end, I didn't know, but he was in his element and wanted everyone within a two-mile radius to know that he was important. Not that anybody cared.

Returning to my new favourite hobby of watching Mia for any sign of subtle touches or glances, I was disappointed that all she did was continued to chat with Terry and text on her phone. Probably to him, I thought, my eyes narrowing and burning a hole of suspicion into the back of her perfect head. I was still waiting for my proof: to catch them mid-coitus or find some steamy texts. So far, there had been nothing.

However, as we neared the room we were headed for, they could have stripped off and started fucking right in front of me and I would struggle to care. All I could focus on was seeing Harry in-person for the first time in six months.

"He might not even be in there," Rose whispered, squeezing my hand in return before letting go so she could subtly adjust my hair. "But if he is, just remember to breathe."

Looking at her briefly, I nodded and took some deep breaths. My heart was hammering away in my chest. I felt like the minute I walked through the double doors, I would puke everywhere. It had taken a lot of time and tears to let my feelings for Harry dissipate, and I could only hope that I'd feel absolutely nothing when I saw him.

My attendance at events with Will had dwindled — he, no doubt, preferred to take Mia instead — so I'd hoped I would be able to get out of going to the One Direction concert, too. I wasn't sure if I was strong enough to face Harry yet. I didn't particularly even want to see him after the pain he'd caused me, and I didn't want to stir up the chances I'd wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick again. However, Will latched on to Harry's insistence that I attend the premiere last year, thus I was told — not asked — to be available for at least one of their nights at Wembley.

With a huge reluctance, I agreed to go on the condition that Rose could come with me. Will had lost all interest in my attendance once I said I'd be there, and he hadn't cared enough to argue. Rather than travel with the others and sit in nightmare-ish traffic with my husband, my husband's lover, and the father of my husband's lover, I drove with my best friend instead. I'd chosen the final night, hoping that because Will had been there the other two nights, I'd manage to avoid going backstage. However, Mia had also chosen to attend the third night so my husband had been thrilled and, in his infinite wisdom, had insisted we say hello to the lads before the show.

From the corridor, we could hear boyish shouting and laughter. My entire body was jelly as we followed Terry into where the band were hanging out. One quick glance from my position behind the other three, and I could mostly see the noise and commotion was coming from the group playing computer games. Noticing Harry wasn't part of the group, I exhaled and hoped that I could say hello to the others, wish them luck, and leave before he appeared.

To my horror, as Mia moved out of my way, I saw Harry was sat almost exactly in front of the door on a large sofa. He looked up from his hot drink and notebook, let his gaze drag over each person until it landed on me, and then I saw the flicker of panic across his face. He didn't smile at me or even show any recognition that he knew me — he just closed his book and looked away.

"Harry!" Will strode over to where Harry was now on his feet. They shook hands and hugged like old friends, making my stomach burn with rage. "How's the voice today? Feeling better?"

I intently watched them talk — well, Will did most of the talking and Harry nodded to save his vocals. He'd croaked 'doctor's orders' at us with a smile, picking up his hot drink from where he'd set it down and taking a sip of it. Harry had the nerve to tell me about what a horrible guy Will was, how he made him feel sick, and yet all that was forgotten and they stood together, chatting like the best of friends. While Harry hadn't been wrong about my husband, the hypocrisy stank.

He shook hands with Terry and hugged Mia, greeting her warmly before moving on to Rose who reached out her hand to shake and refusing to hug him. Then he was in front of me and I didn't know what to do, so I followed his lead and we hugged coldly. We held eye contact for what felt like eternity, but there was no hidden look of love in his green eyes, no hint that he regretted what he did. Wordlessly, he turned away and went back to his seat. Had it not been for everyone else knowing that person was Harry Styles, I'd have questioned it because he wasn't the man who'd given me my best birthday ever or told me he loved me. This person was a stranger living inside the body of someone I'd once known.

Harry was quick to leave, picking up his book and drink and slipping out quietly during the noise. It hurt to see how eager he was to not be in the same room as me. He'd left, but I didn't feeling comfortable being in that room, in his space, ruining his time preparing for the show. He was unhappy I was there, I could tell, and it made me feel like I looked desperate. Like I was there in a bid to get him back.

Rose and I milled around by the door while Terry, Will, and Mia said hello to everyone else. I knew that once upon a time, Will would be furious with me for not playing the dutiful wife, playing my part like I was married to Donald Draper, but he didn't seem to care what I did. I'd come along, and because Harry hadn't shown any interest in me, I was no longer required. My job here was done! Urgently needing to leave, I suggested to Rose that we headed to the company viewing box to make things less awkward. She agreed, so I called to Will that we'd meet him there and he vaguely waved to acknowledge that he'd at least heard my voice.

"Well, that was... tense," Rose mumbled once we were in the corridor and the door was closed behind us. "He didn't even say a word to you! What the fuck? Want me to go punch him?"

"Hmmm," I agreed, not entirely listening to her. There was so much I wanted to say that I thought it best keep my mouth shut and not let the floodgates open. 

Seeing one another was awkward, and that was all I needed to know. The panic in Harry's eyes was agonising to see. He'd regretted everything and there I was, reminding him of the mistake he'd made. My palms began to sweat, my heart raced, and bile rose in my throat. Agreeing to come had been a huge mistake — why hadn't I at least made up some excuse not to go backstage?

"Are you okay?" Rose held onto me as I stumbled, the floor appearing to shift under my feet.

"Bathroom," I looked around for a restroom and spotted one just ahead. I headed for it, palms dragging over the rough, grey walls. I heard Rose ask through the rushing in my ears, "do you want me to come with you?"

"No!" I called back, pushing the heavy door open. "Just stay here."

I headed for the furthest cubicle and locked myself in, praying the rising panic would die down quickly.  With my head over the toilet bowl, I stared at my reflection in the shallow water, waiting to see if my body would follow through with the nausea, but even though my stomach contracted, all I managed was a couple of pathetic dry heaves. Logically, I knew it was an overreaction. I needed to get a grip and stop being a baby before Rose came in asking questions, but I felt humiliated.

Crouching down, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Rose.

 **Layla**  
When the others come out, go with them and I'll meet you there. I promise I won't be long, just an upset tummy.

 **Rose**  
They just came out. Are you sure you don't want me to wait? Do you know where we'll be?

I rolled my eyes with frustration. Too many questions and demands! Taking a deep breath, I felt bad and reminded myself she was worried. If the roles were reversed, I'd be the same and probably worse. My friend knew that I'd been struggling for months, that I was beginning to finally get back to a decent place, and that it wouldn't take very much to send me hurtling back to square one.

 **Layla**  
I'm sure! I know where you'll be. Go meet Dee. I'll be fine. Promise. I'll call you if I need you x

She replied with a wonky, unsure emoji and a thumbs up. I knew she meant that she was doing as told, but wasn't entirely happy about it.

Putting my phone away, I stood back up and rubbed my stomach. I wasn't okay, but I didn't want to tell anyone that, especially when nobody could fix it. For some reason, the demise of my affair had brought a lot of horrible memories to the surface. I'd lain awake for hours trying to work out why, making use of the quiet and the dark while being too scared of nightmares to go back to sleep. The best theory I could come up with — desperate for a reason so I could try and sleep undisturbed for at least one night — was that he'd made me vulnerable emotionally. He was easy to talk to, and I'd stupidly felt like I could trust him, like I was safe with him. There was something about Harry that felt like home, like when I was little and my mother would take me to grandparents' for Christmas. I had felt the same level of excitement over being with him as I had when the tree lights were on and everything was glittery and colourful.

It was the only idea that vaguely made sense to me, and it was probably stupid. All I knew was that that had been the last time I would see Harry. I couldn't take the pain of having him look at me like he had ever again. I'd rather keep the memories of feeling like Christmas morning, and let everything else to do with Harry Styles go.

Finally, the nausea passed, but I was still flustered and impossibly hot. I decided that I'd take a slow walk to rejoin the others and on the way, I'd grab an ice cold drink from one of the overpriced stands. First though, I needed to make sure I didn't look as shitty as I felt. I picked up my bag from the floor, placed it over my shoulder, and opened the door.

Having not heard anybody come in, I was extremely surprised to find I hadn't been alone in the toilets like I'd thought. I was only thankful I hadn't actually puked, or worse. Because leaned against the sink with his arms folded across his well-built chest stood Harry.

Our eyes met, and he said without a hint of a smile, "Hello, Lil."


	38. Happily

__The sound of Harry's voice seemed to trigger me into finally reacting to him being in front of me, clutching my chest in shock, I attempted at a casual laugh.

"Jesus, Harry! You scared the shit out of me."

I walked over to the sink near where he stood and tried to hide the fact my hands were shaking. The cold water was numbing, making me wish there was a way I could run the cold tap over my heart so it would calm down a little. There were only three basins, so we were stood fairly close together. Smelling his cologne awoke so many memories but, most of all, reminded me of being in his car and burying my face in his neck as he asked me to leave Will.

Harry didn't say anything or attempt an apology for making me jump. He just watched me wash and dry my hands. The silence was agonizing as he continued what felt like a hygiene inspection, not once looking away from me.

"You look nice." His eyes were fixed on me with such cold intensity that the flashback of how he'd looked at me with disgust in my dream hit me like a hammer to the skull.

Despite my nerves, I had felt good about myself and the way I looked. I'd wanted to make sure my hair was perfect, my manicure was fresh, and the floral summer dress I'd agonised over wearing accentuated all the parts of my figure that Harry liked. I'd felt like a knockout. Despite his words, the compliment hadn't felt genuine and I immediately felt ugly.

"You, too." Hoping my face voice didn't shake, I gave a weak smile then nodded to his crazily patterned monochrome shirt. "That's very... jazzy."

The corner of Harry's mouth pulled up, knocking me out with a dimple and a toothy grin. "I like it."

I was expecting something from him. Anything! I got nothing except more awkward silence. Suddenly, I felt annoyed by the cheek of him daring to follow me. He wasn't there to apologise or to make things right — he wanted me to forgive him without doing any of the hard work.

"Did you want something? I have to get back to Rose, and you have a show to do."

As if reminded he was meant to be performing in half an hour, he took a step closer to me and touched the hand I had balled into a fist as it steadied me on the counter,

"Are you coming for drinks at the hotel later?"

I moved my hand away from his and asked with a tight smile, "Why on earth would I do that?"

"I... I was hoping you'd be able to sneak away, so we could talk?"

Harry's moment of realisation had come: he had done too much damage for me to fall into his arms asking for his room number, or pull him into the cubicle I'd just left so I could drop to my knees in gratitude for him deeming me worthy of his attention again.

"Talk? Talk about what?"

"Uh, us?"

I scoffed and shook my head. "There stopped being an 'us' when you asked me to leave my husband then blocked my number, Harry."

"Please, Lil, just let me explain why I did that."

Turning toward the mirror, I checked my make-up and was pleased that despite how ugly I felt, my mascara and eyeliner hadn't run and my lipstick wasn't patchy. He tried once more to touch my arm but I brushed his hand away and hissed.

"Don't touch me!" Stepping back out of his reach, I held my palm up to him so he couldn't come closer. "You don't get to explain. You made your choice when you did what you did. I get enough shit from Will. I certainly don't need it from you, too."

I had to leave before the full extent of my anger flooded out. I couldn't believe he was expecting me to listen to him. Reaching the door, I paused and looked at him. He was surprised and a little hurt by my anger; despite the crazy shirt and the red, sniffly nose, he looked breathtaking.

"Good luck for the show, Harry. Break a fucking leg."

  
I practically vibrated my way back to the private box, adrenaline coursing through me with such power, I momentarily considered running as fast as I could to see if I'd take off. Everyone else was there when I arrived, watching the supporting act and patting each other on the back for a job well done.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked in a low voice, handing me a well-timed glass of prosecco before adding, "thought you might need this."

"I definitely do." Taking a large gulp of my first drink in weeks, I leant over and whispered, "Harry followed me into the toilets."

Rose's cheeks puffed out as she struggled not to spit out her drink. Luckily, she managed to swallow it down before looking me over for any hint of wild, passionate kissing.

"Don't worry. I told him to stick his explanation where the sun doesn't shine, and I'll tell you now, it doesn't shine there, despite what people think." She was surprised I hadn't done anything, and that fuelled the fury I felt with myself for falling for any of his bullshit lies. "He wanted to talk about 'us' like he hadn't completely messed me around. I just didn't want to hear it."

Rose grabbed my flailing hand and pushed it down, whispering, "I know you're angry, but this isn't the time or place."

Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I knew she was right. My husband was only a few steps away, and though he was too distracted by Mia being at his side, I'd have been stupid to have a meltdown over Harry surrounded by that group of people. Pressing my lips together, and tensing my jaw, I quashed my rage down until I could deal with it after the show.

I followed Rose to our seats, hopeful that she and Dionne would cheer me up. I still felt like a third wheel, but instead of being miserable around their blossoming relationship, I found it cute and sweet. It gave me hope that at least Rose had found someone who made her happy. Seeing I'd arrived, Dee leapt up and hugged me tightly.

"Rose told me you didn't feel well. You okay?"

"I'm good! All better now, hopefully."

Sitting down, Rose sat between us and held her girlfriend's hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it. I felt a pang of sadness. Rose and Dee, Will and Mia, Harry and... whichever supermodel slash singer slash 'It girl' he was banging, everyone seemed to be pairing off and leaving me behind. With bitter amusement, I glanced at my husband and thought it typical of my life that even he had paired off with someone else. I was the third wheel and outsider in my own marriage.

Trying and failing to distract myself, I looked out over the audience and at the stage below. The supporting act had finished so nothing was happening, but there was an excited buzz that the next act out would be their idols. My husband's company had done a decent job with the set, and although I'd seen photographs, it was more impressive in person. The open air venue was still lit up by daylight, but once night started to fall, we'd see the stage as it should be seen. That's what I always loved about concerts.

The place was packed and at one time, I might have been proud that Harry, along with his band mates, was able to sell out a legendary venue like Wembley Stadium. I didn't care about how many fans were in the audience, that they'd lose their mind when the band eventually came out, or that I'd finally get to see what he loved doing best: performing.

As expected, the stadium erupted when the screens came to life and each member's face appeared. That was the moment I tried my best to zone out and pretend I was somewhere else, sipping my one drink of the night and mentally booking my next holiday. Greece? Spain? Maybe the south of France? Anywhere else but sat watching a tiny, swaggering, and slightly croaky-voiced Harry bounce around on stage.

Glancing at Rose, I could see that despite my shit mood, she was enjoying herself and though she'd previously insisted that she didn't know any One Direction songs, she knew a lot of the words. Dee was in full fangirl mode, revealing herself as a full on 'Directioner.' It endeared her more to me that a cool, trendy bit of a music snob was turning to Rose every song and yelling, "I love this one so much!"

I was feeling bad for not knowing she was such a fan, and not bringing her with us to meet the band when a song I knew all too well began to play. Harry sang the opening verse and, despite the fact he probably couldn't even see that far, turned to look up at where we were sitting.

_'You don't understand, you don't understand_   
_What you do to me when you hold his hand_   
_We were meant to be but a twist of fate_   
_Made it so you had to walk away'_

It all felt like such a cliché, and had I not had my run in with him earlier, I'd be laughing at his gall while giving him the finger and hoping Will didn't see. But I was drained — by the affair, by having my heart thoroughly pummelled, by constantly looking for signs of Will's infidelity, and by my own memories. I didn't want to be saved, but I'd felt like Harry was maybe my sign that I could move on to better things. He'd played me that song, 'Happily,' after I agreed I'd leave Will for him. Kissing my temple, he'd quietly sang along so I heard each lyric and told me every word was true. I'd believed him. Now that moment was ruined, and now he stood on stage rubbing salt in the wound.

I covered my face as it finally gave in and crumpled up, fat tears blurring my vision and dripping into my lap. Rose grabbed my hand instantly and squeezed it tightly. Leaning close, she softly reminded me that I had to try and keep it together. She was right once again. Dee was already looking at us curiously, and all it would take was for her to ask me what was wrong and everything would come spilling out. Everyone else would notice and I wouldn't have the strength to come up with a lie. Suddenly, this huge arena was tiny and claustrophobic. I wanted to run away and lick the wounds that had been ripped open by seeing and hearing Harry again. I'd tried with everything in my power, but I wasn't entirely confident that I hadn't undone all the hard work I'd done to forget Harry. My broken and fragile heart was definitely threatening to fall apart all over again.

When the song finally finished I was able to regain my composure, I looked around to see if anyone had been aware of my meltdown but if they had, none of them were acknowledging it. Dee would occasionally lean forward to look and see if I was okay, but everybody else seemed to be watching the show, enjoying the fruits of their labour.

  
The end of the show was like reaching the surface of the water. Harry left the stage and finally, I could breathe again. Rose and Dee were perfectly okay with leaving straight away, but Will had other ideas.

"You and your friends can follow our car to the hotel. We'll meet you there," he commanded before going to walk away, and I'd obviously lost my mind because I reached out and grabbed his forearm, yanking him back with a jolt.

"No. I'm going home. I have work in the morning."

Will blinked at me a few seconds, but I was running on fury and met his disbelief with a stony refusal to back down. Because I'd been amicable and friendly, he'd seemed to have forgotten our fight and that I was no longer scared of him. Steeling my resolve, I dared him to continue his insistence because I was in the perfect mood for a fight.

"This isn't up for discussion," he tried, an arrogant smirk on his lips as he used his usual line which normally had me give in and do what he said for an easy life.

"Well, William, I think it is." I enjoyed watching as he flinched at the use of his whole name. His mother, Verity, was the only person to use it and I knew he hated it because it reminded him of being in trouble with her. "I'm not going for drinks. I'm going home."

Everyone in the small room was now watching — or rather, trying not to watch too obviously. As far as Will's business partners were concerned, I was sullen and occasionally rude, a possible drunk, but I was obedient and fairly well-behaved. My flat-out refusal to tow the line was outside the image Will presented of how he ran his home.

"Layla, you ar—" Red-faced, my husband stepped into my personal space and almost straight away, Terry and Rose appeared either side of us.

"Those fireworks have given me a headache too, Lil," Terry laughed loudly, trying to break the tension. "You go on home and rest up."

Rose pulled me away. I was glad to know Terry was on my side. As my friends led me out of the box, I could hear him telling Will harshly, "You're making a scene for no bloody reason, just for once try and be a halfway decent husband!"


	39. Breathe

In my car, I screamed at the top of my lungs to release some of the rage. The image of Will's cocky face remained at the forefront of my thoughts, and because I couldn't go back inside to punch his lights out, I had to make do with screaming until I became lightheaded.

"Better?" Rose asked after I fell silent, and the only sound was the music she'd cranked up to drown out my noise.

"Much."

I turned the volume of the stereo down and rested my head on the steering wheel so I could replay the incident over in my head.

After a moment of silence, I heard Rose say, "I have never seen you like that with him."

"I've never been like that with him before, but I wasn't going to back down. I'll be honest, Rose. It felt amazing." I sat back up and looked at her. "I thought that maybe the fight we had was a once-off, but I genuinely don't feel intimidated by him anymore."

"Good! I'm proud of you." She placed her hand on my back and rubbed it in a circular motion.

Staring out of the windscreen, I knew we needed to leave soon but there were still people queuing to leave the car park so I wasn't in a hurry. Instead, I sighed and pondered out loud, "Is this it then?"

"What?"

"Is this me finally reaching the end of my tether?"

My friend shrugged and glanced back at Dee, who had been suspiciously quiet since we'd left. I wondered what she was thinking of my husband and me, and whether she thought that my marriage troubles were related to me crying.

"Let's face it, Lil. It's about time you reached the end of many of your tethers." I nodded at Rose's words and realised she was spot on; there were a lot of things I'd let keep me held back, and I was finally ready to cut myself loose of all of them.

"There's something going on here," Dee piped up from the back seat. "What aren't you two telling me?"

I glanced at Rose and knew she'd find it hard to lie. She'd promised not to say anything to anyone about Harry and me, but she loved her girlfriend and already expressed that Dee had asked why I'd been so strange the night I found out about Harry and Kendall. With a sigh, I twisted in my seat to look at Dee and decided to make things easier for everyone. I only hoped that I wouldn't regret it.

"This goes no further, okay? I'm serious, Dee. This is really important."

"I promise, Lil. I'm not going to say anything," she paused then added, "I wasn't asking you to tell me, by the way. I just was... observing."

I nodded and took a deep breath, debating if I should tell the whole truth. Dionne was a great person, but I hadn't known her that long. What would happen if and when she and Rose split up? Granted, she had no proof, but it didn't take much to start a rumour.

"Last year, I got involved with someone and," I cleared my throat and swallowed hard, "well, tonight was my first time seeing him since it ended."

There was no reaction. Rose and I just stared at Dee and waited with baited breath for her reaction. I'd tried to sound casual, like it really wasn't a big deal, but the stunned reaction hinted that maybe she did find it a big deal. I started to picture her wanting to get out of the car so she could go tell Will what a dirty hussy I was, until she interrupted my dramatics.

"Cheating is really shitty, but frankly so is your husband." Leaning forward, she placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "I promise that I won't say a thing to anybody."

  
We drove back to Rose's in relative silence, the three of us seemingly lost in our thoughts, and I suspected that once we got back to her's, those thoughts would be voiced. The only sounds were that of the late-night love ballads on the radio, complete with a cheesy DJ talking over every intro, and my phone beeping away with message after message. Each new notification caused anxiety to swell in my chest, the ding-ding signalling what I guessed would be a new threatening and hateful text from Will. Trying my best to block them out, I focused on the road and was thankful that neither girls mentioned them either.

At a set of lights, I took the opportunity to put the phone on silent. Surprisingly, while there were some messages from Will, the majority were from Harry. Quickly glancing at what he'd sent, I rolled my eyes, put the phone on silent, locked it and dropped it into the change holder.

**Harry**   
_Hi, will you please come to the hotel?_   
_Layla please?_   
_I just want to talk to you and explain_   
_Lil, please just come_   
_Are you here? I can see Will_

They'd all gone on in the same variation, asking me to come see him or tell me where I was so he could come talk to me. His bravado must have had something to do with adrenaline, too much cold medicine, or a bruised ego over my refusal to fawn over him. That's what I figured he'd liked about me to begin with: I hadn't fallen at his feet the minute he'd spoken to me.

Either way, I wasn't going to meet with him, tell him where I was, or let him give some bullshit excuse about why he'd acted like a massive... cunt!

Startled by my own anger, I exhaled and turned up the radio a little so I could hum along with 'Endless Love' instead of calling Harry vulgar names. He didn't know it, but he had a lucky escape by my absence at the afterparty. I was still shaking with rage from my verbal altercation with Will, and had I had to deal with Harry's weak excuses, I'd have blown my top completely. Truly, my problems with my husband were at the forefront of my mind. Dealing with Harry would have to wait.

**•**

By three in the morning, I was laying on the sofa bed in Rose's living room, staring up at the ceiling and listening to my heart thump loudly in my chest. Normally, the bed was so comfortable that I was asleep in a matter of minutes, but no matter what I did, I couldn't get my brain to stop racing.

Harry's messages had stopped eventually, and I guessed they were when Will left. He couldn't show up at my home. If he had slipped out and gone there while my husband was still at the party, he'd have found it empty. My angry, bitter heart found a deep satisfaction when I pictured him knocking on my front door despite everything inside being pitch black and my car not being outside. I hoped he cried on the way home and felt at least some of the pain he caused me.

I couldn't believe the evening I'd had and felt emotionally drained but also felt on the cusp of an epiphany. One that had been coming for months, if not longer when I was truly honest with myself. Everything was suddenly slotting into place, I had clarity in my erratic thoughts, and despite how scared I felt, Will's attempt to antagonise me had been the final straw.

I'd lived in a cloud of worry and fear for years, even before I'd met Will, but when Harry came along — though I was reluctant to give him any credit for any decision I was about to make — he set in motion a different way of how I saw myself. His feelings for me may have all been total bullshit, or they may have been real, but Harry reminded me that I wasn't this thing that was there to be berated or teased while equally being taken out and paraded like a trophy wife. Will had seen that despite my hard exterior, I was fragile and vulnerable, and he'd taken advantage of that so he could break me down. Like a dutiful wife, I did as I was told and went along with what he wanted for an easy life. It was hard to accept that maybe Harry had seen that same fragility and weakness and used it to his advantage, too. He'd played it differently than Will, but maybe the two men weren't as different as I thought they were. Despite that, there had been quite a few moments where Harry had given me a strength and belief in myself that my husband had never done. Harry had never made me feel worthless. That was the key to why I was desperate for morning to come.

It had reached the time where I needed to stop stalling, to stop pretending like I was waiting for some proof of Will's infidelity.

I'd survived all the things that had happened in my childhood.

I'd survived running away to another country when I was eighteen.

I'd survived someone I deeply cared about using me, making me believe he loved me, then tossing me to one side.

I had gotten through all of that and came out stronger in the end.

It was terrifying, making the decision to take the unknown step into the void, but I had to tell myself I was going to get through this. I was going to get through being on my own, taking my life into my own hands, and divorce Will.

**•**

I only managed to sleep for what felt like ten minutes, but as soon as the living room started to brighten with the soft, blue glow which comes with early morning, I was up and out of bed. My stomach churned with apprehension, but I also felt the nervous excitement, like queuing for a rollercoaster. I'd been waiting and waiting for years, but now the end was in sight. I couldn't wait to finally have it all be over.

I'd messaged Will the previous night to say that I wouldn't be coming home. He had read the text but hadn't replied, so I knew that I was going to be in for a frosty reception. He'd probably start an argument, lashing out with all the things he knew would hurt me, but I was ready for anything he had to throw at me, and ready to start my new life.

Creeping into Rose's room, I crouched down next to her and gently woke her up, trying not to stir Dee who was out cold next to her.

"There are hamburgers in the bathroom cupboard," she mumbled sleepily, lifting her head up off of the pillow then looking at me, confused by her own sentence. "What time is it?"

Chuckling, I looked at my phone and whispered, "five o'clock. I'm just popping home but I'm going to be coming back. I hopefully won't be too long."

"Of course," Rose nodded and frowned. "Are you okay? Need me to come with you?"

"No, it's okay. You stay in bed. I've honestly never been better." I stood up and pulled the covers over her properly and she wrapped them around her like a cocoon. "I'll see you later."

She said goodbye with a groan, and by the time I got to the bedroom door, she was already snoring away once again. I only hoped that when I came back from ending my marriage, she wouldn't be too pissed off at me asking to stay until I thought of a better solution. I wished I had better plans in place, like more money of my own saved up so I wasn't relying on staying with a friend.

I wanted more options, more time, so I could set things in place. Deep down, I also knew that if I didn't do it now, I never would.


	40. Omen

The house was silent and still when I walked in, but for a moment, I stood in the hallway and looked around, wondering why everything seemed... different. Nothing had changed, everything was as I had left it the previous afternoon, but there was something I couldn't put my finger on which made the back of my neck tense.

Eventually, I managed to brush away my sense of foreboding and headed upstairs to our bedroom. Pausing on the landing, I saw the door was ajar, and through the gap came the sound of Will snoring. There were many things I wouldn't miss about him, his snoring among the top five.

I pushed the door open and crept in, despite knowing it was stupid because I was going in there to wake him. He was laying flat on his back, mouth wide open, and one foot hanging off the edge of the bed. It took longer than it should have, but I finally registered the third leg hooked over Will's thigh and the arm thrown across his stomach. Watching them sleep, I felt like an intruder. They both looked so peaceful that I almost considered creeping back out, feeling it would be rude to wake them.

Luckily, I came to my senses and realised what I was seeing before me. I'd had my suspicions. I'd spent months looking for hints and clues to confirm I was right — that my husband had been sleeping with his business partner's daughter, Mia.

What lay before me was the biggest confirmation I needed that my husband was being unfaithful.

What had never crossed my mind was that it wasn't the daughter he was sleeping with, but the business partner himself.

Terry was curled up against Will's side, his grey-white hair dishevelled, and I could make out a sleepy smile on his face. They fit together in a way that gave me a flashing memory of sleeping with Harry, but it faded away quickly as I tried to process what my eyes were looking at. Terry was like a father to me. He was my ally when it came to my husband and mother-in-law. We'd face family events together and make fun of Verity's sour, twisted face. I loved Terry and he loved me. He surely couldn't be the one who Will was cheating with.

Could he?

Rubbing my eyes in disbelief, I was stumped, that was for sure. Had I unknowingly been a beard for this man for all these years, or was this a new thing? Was I the only one who didn't know? Was everyone around me laughing at me because they knew?

'Poor, stupid Layla, too blind to see that her husband likes men.'

I'd considered Harry as the other man in my marriage, but as it turned it, it was also Terry.

Rage bubbled up violently. I turned to the bedroom door, grabbed the edges with both hands and threw it open so hard that it hit the wall with an almighty bang. The handle dented the wall before swinging back shut and causing a second, louder bang. They both woke in bleary confusion, and sat up, eyes wide and with at least some decency to look guilty.

"Layla!" Will was up and out of bed first. Naked, he came towards me before realising and grabbed his robe from where it lay on the floor, covering himself up. I briefly wondered if it had been thrown there in a moment of passion.  "We can explain, Layla. Please listen."

Will was talking, but it turned into static noise. I just stared at Terry who was silent and shame-faced. He ran his hands over his perfectly groomed stubble and looked away. I wasn't really bothered by the infidelity — I had no right to be upset about that considering my own dalliance — but what made my already fragile heart hurt was the betrayal by someone I trusted like family.

Tearfully, I found myself laughing at my own idiocy. It had all be happening right under my nose, but I'd focused in on the wrong person. "Oh my god, I thought it was Mia!"

"Lil, p—"

"Shut up!" I spat at Will. "Just for once in your goddamn fucking life, shut the fuck up."

Tension filled the room while they waited for me to make my next move, neither of them daring to say anything or to approach me. I was angry that Terry was too cowardly to look at me. He was no longer the one in control of the room. There was nothing he could say that would make the situation better. Frankly, he could take the words of comfort and clarity he usually proffered and shove them up his fucking arse!

It dawned on me that I couldn't stand there all day. I had no interest in their explanations or bullshit, so my next action was to head to my closet. Grabbing my suitcase, I opened it up and started to throw things inside, filling it with outfits for work, underwear, and shoes. It felt satisfying to ball things up and throw them. 

"Where are you going?" I looked up to see Will stood in the doorway. "I know you're angry, but please just let us explain."

"Explain what?! What could you possibly need to fucking explain?" Flinching, he looked petrified I was going to throw the stiletto heel I held in my hand at his head, but while it was tempting, I decided he wasn't worth it.

"Luckily for you, I decided last night that I don't want to be your accessory anymore. So you can stick your marriage, and your house, and while you're at it, you can stick him as well." With a violent yank at the zip, I lifted the case up and barged my way past a stunned Will, making sure to catch his bare feet with the wheels. "I hope you'll be very happy."

"Layla, stop."

Terry blocked me and stopped me in my tracks. He was half-dressed now, body tanned and toned, and I absently wondered if the 'business trip' they'd gone on a few weeks before was more of a couple's holiday. How many of the other 'business trips' had really been a chance for them to be together?

When he placed his hands on my shoulders, I shook them off but didn't try to get past him. There was still a part of me in shock, still not fully believing that this man had been sleeping with my husband. Voice soothing, he tempted me to do as he asked. I felt a fresh wave of tears roll down my cheeks. Once upon a time, if he'd have told me up was down, I'd have believed him. "Just let us explain. That's all we ask."

"Us?" I sniffed, looking at him and then to Will, who'd moved closer to my side, the pictures of our wedding day framing him. "Do you love each other?"

The two men exchanged looks. I'd thought the soft, loving looks they shared were from deep respect and admiration, a bond which came from the grief of losing Will's father and having to keep the business afloat after his death. But knowing the truth, I could see that they loved each other deeply and had for many years.

"Yes, I love him," Will's voice trembled, but I saw relief at him finally being able to say how he felt to me.

I put my head in my hands and sobbed. Everything had been a lie. My whole marriage was fake, and he'd spent the entire time mentally torturing me for no reason other than because he couldn't live his life. He'd chosen me as the cover for his secret, and rather than telling me about it, he punished me.

Lifting my head and looking at the men I once loved, I cried, "I'd have lied for you, you didn't have to do this to me."

"Lil," Will attempted once more to touch my shoulder, and once more I smacked it away.

"You broke me, Will," I let my tears flow freely and felt the rage I felt return. "I loved you and rather than be honest with me, you broke me."

I started to feel sick. I had to get out of that bedroom, away from the bed I had sex with him in. He'd probably hated every second, even when things had been new and good. I didn't know what was real anymore, and I couldn't stand to spend one more second in that room or that house.  

Pushing past Terry, my knees were jelly as I thumped the suitcase down the stairs. Panicked, and mind racing, I was sure I'd forgotten everything I really needed, but whatever I'd forgotten paled in comparison to how much I wanted to leave. I wouldn't feel safe until I was in my car, on my way to Rose's flat.

"Go on then, you whore!" Will was behind me, his normal manner resumed, obviously no longer wanting to play the part of the guilty party. "You think I don't know you were shagging Harry Styles?"

I flinched. He made it sound dirty, but I wasn't going to let him know that he had shocked me.

"I don't care if you knew or not." I pulled the front door open so that this one also hit the wall with a bang and the glass gave a protesting rattle. "But the next time you're doing your grovelling, brown-nosing act with him, know that he hates you. He thinks you're a joke and an embarrassment. All the boys do. You're not cool, you're not 'one of the lads,' and your little advice to them about not getting married no matter how good the girl is in bed? Thanks for those! That lead to me having the best sex I've had in years."

"I'm the joke?" Will scoffed loudly. "You're just some desperate slag to him. You were just practise, cause he was screwing at least another three girls at the same time, all thinner, younger, and prettier than you."

I bit my tongue so hard, I feared my teeth would go right through. I wanted to destroy him, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction or ammunition. Terry appeared down the stairs, and reminded me that Will was just as panicked and scared as I was. His secrets were on the verge of being exposed, and he was terrified his mother was going to find out what he was, if she didn't know already. My husband was scared of being cut out of his inheritance, petrified that everything was about to crumble down around his ears.

I understood it. I was far too familiar with that feeling. Had it been anyone else, I'd have felt sorry for them, offered comfort and advice, but I wanted him to feel what he'd spent years threatening me with. The feeling like you are about to lose everything, and like you have nowhere to turn. He'd never really know that — Terry would always be there for him — and the looks they'd shared upstairs had spoken volumes. They didn't need money. They didn't need a fancy townhouse in London. All they needed was each other. It took my finding them to realise it. Will just needed a little longer to accept it.

I threw my case in the boot, got in the car, stuck my two fingers up at him and drove off feeling confused, hurt, and angry, but also relieved, lighter, and free.

Other people were on the streets as I drove to Rose's, making their way to work or school. Like after the fight a few months before, I felt numb. Like that night, I sat outside of her house for a long time. I cried this time though — painful, choking sobs which shook my body and made my forehead ache. Years of pain broke free to reach the surface, all jostling for attention, but all I could picture was Will and Terry fast asleep, tangled in each other, and very clearly, deeply in love.

I'd given the best years of life to a lie, and I didn't know how I was going to come back from that.

**-**   
**APPLY SOME PRESSURE**   
**COMING SOON**

 

 

 


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